The False Empire
by wangxiuming
Summary: Donning both her master's mask and her identity, Lord Lethe navigates the treacherous landscape that is Sith politics within the Empire in order to reform it. But can she achieve her goals with all the machinations working against her? Sequel to the False Sith
1. Usurpers - Chapter 01

_**Part One: Usurpers**_

 **Chapter 1**

* * *

 _Two Months After the Battle of Twinspire Keep (3637 BBY) - Siphon's Citadel, New Adasta_

The face that stared back at Lethe in the mirror was no longer her own.

She wasn't sure she would ever get used to the sight of her former master's golden mask gazing back at her with all of its imperious nonchalance. Every time she saw her own reflection, she heard her master's voice echo through her very core, delivering accusations that she could not deny: Liar. Pretender.

 _Usurper._

It helped that she had so few opportunities to actually remove the guise. She couldn't afford risking anyone discovering her true identity. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

As Darth Siphon, she had power. As Siphon, she inherited the glory and pride due to a victor emerged from a Kaggath. As Siphon, she commanded a power structure that would rival Darth Nox's in the days before her ascent to the Dark Council.

As Lethe, she had nothing.

Still, wearing the visage was at times unbearable. The metal face had been welded to a leather sleeve meant for the head, the only circulation granted from the two holes carved into the metal nose to allow for breath. More than unbearable, it was a jail cell for her face. She wanted to feel it again, wanted her cheeks to know the touch of fresh air free of sweat and grime. More than that, she longed to see her old face again, to know that somewhere inside of the persona she projected, some semblance of her true self still remained.

Before the ornate mirror placed upon her dressing table in her new quarters, she gingerly pulled at the golden mask. Its impassive expression stared back at her, reflected in the mirror, its dead eyes somehow filled with judgment. It fought her every effort, clung to her face like a babe to its mother, unrelenting, unbowed.

Its defiance was by her own design; what use was a mask in battle if it could be jostled or knocked loose? It was how her master had lost the mask she now possessed in the first place. Better now that it be obstinate than risk the revelation of secrets that Lethe could not afford to reveal.

But something felt wrong - the mask would not come off, no matter how her fingers peeled at the golden caricature or worked at the leather bindings.

Her heartbeat quickened. It was one thing to choose to don the mask - it was another to be trapped within it, unable to extricate herself from the permanent prison of another's identity. To be denied herself, to be denied _Lethe_ … it was not a sensation she had ever thought she would fear.

Not until now.

 _Why would it not come free?_

She clawed at the mask now, angling her fingernails into the leather, digging into the grooves of the metal to peel it away - by force if necessary - desperate to unveil her face. It was ridiculous; she would have laughed had urgency not overwhelmed all other emotion.

She knew only one thing now. She had to liberate herself from this cage.

Through the Force, she found her answer. Reaching into her well of power, she pulled at the mask from two ends, two hands compelling the mask to rip, to tear, to shatter. She no longer cared if the mask was destroyed - so long as the metal remained, she could always restore the rest later. She threw all of her power behind her effort - she could feel the mask tearing, loosening around her head, buckling under her will.

She closed her eyes and screamed as her efforts bore fruition; two halves of the mask flew to separate sides of her room, the half with the metal face slamming into the wall with a violent screech. She felt it immediately: freedom. The caress of a gentle breeze flowing in from the open doors of her balcony, whispering upon her skin sweet release.

Adrenaline rushed through her veins as she opened her eyes, eager to reclaim her identity … if only for a few minutes.

The sight of her own reflection snuffed out her hopes as her heart skipped a beat.

What looked back at her now was a face … but a face without features. Dark skin wrapped around a skull, without a nose, without a mouth. In place of eyes, two gaping holes revealing only darkness as black as oblivion, widening in terror. She didn't understand; she wanted to scream, but no sound could come from a mouth that did not exist. She watched in horror as her jaw and chin reflected her efforts to shriek, only for silence to follow.

No trace of her former self remained.

Without the mask, she was nothing. She was no one.

She woke, covered in sweat, heart pounding against her chest with insistent declaration. She raced to her mirror, tearing off the mask as quickly as she could. Desperate, she didn't care that the metal caught against her cheek and scraped against it painfully even as she finally extricated herself from it. It was not until her old face finally came into view that she breathed a sigh of relief.

It was just a dream.

She glanced down at the mask now lying on the floor of her quarters. It looked smaller … and yet somehow more terrifying than it had ever seemed before. She glanced at a nearby digital clock; 0400 hours. She would have to put the mask back on, assume the role of Siphon once more. She had no choice … only Siphon could command the power base she had amassed. If she ever wanted to achieve her goals, to expand her power, to ascend to the Dark Council … she could not waver. Not now. Not when she was so close.

Lethe reached down to pick up the fallen mask. For just a second, her fingers paused before grabbing the visage and gingerly donning it once more.

She told herself her hesitation was nothing, a side-effect of being groggy and half-asleep.

But in her heart of hearts, she knew the truth.


	2. Usurpers - Chapter 02

**Chapter 2**

* * *

" … the resettlement of your forces into the Citadel is almost complete, my lord. I've left General Ravain in command at Twinspire to ensure the remaining transition remains smooth."

"Very good, Astraad." Lethe nodded as she looked to the pureblood Sith lord across the circular council table. The man's graying hair was rapidly turning white, but it was his cybernetic right arm that commanded most of the attention. The man had forsaken his own limb to help her secure Orthas' domain as her own, a sacrificial token meant to prove her strength to the pureblood following. The least Lethe could do was to sponsor the highest quality of replacements, never forgetting that she still did not know why he seemed so intent on aiding her.

Lethe allowed her eyes to survey the entirety of her advisory board seated around her. They were all sith purebloods, dressed now in plain robes that matched her own. With most of Siphon's strongest disciples lost in the Kaggath, the ranks of Lethe's advisors were now drawn mostly from Orthas' followers. Of those with the requisite status and power, only Ravain had been loyal to Siphon and now he had been assigned to remain at Twinspire Keep.

It was likely for the best. Most of Orthas' powerbase had been loathe to welcome the woman who slew their master into the heart of their command center in New Adasta, widely known to the rest of Ziost simply as "the Citadel." Had Astraad not convinced his brethren to honor the terms of the Kaggath, Lethe suspected she would have had another war on her hands. Even with his support, she knew Orthas' apprentices were wary of her arrival and the inevitable change she would bring with her. Stationing Ravain in a position of authority above them might have pushed them over the edge from dubious support to defiant resistance.

She would not risk such a conflict. Not before she was ready.

That wasn't to say she didn't have plans for change. On the contrary, there was much Lethe wanted to do. For too long, Orthas had mired his following in ridiculous notions of obsolete tradition and an unhealthy obsession with purity of blood. Siphon had been right about that at least; Orthas' beliefs would have been the Empire's doom.

Lethe would see her empire freed from the chains of its old prejudices. It was up to her to right the course of these wayward Sith, to bring them into enlightenment.

Still, she knew better than to rock a ship in a turbulent nebula. And if keeping her grip on her new following meant leaving Ravain behind, she was more than willing to make that sacrifice. Besides, Ravain was close enough to the true Siphon that he might have been able to see through Lethe's little masquerade. A little distance might indeed prove more beneficial in the long run.

Astraad continued his report. " … the Citadel's defenses have been shored up and I've ordered double patrols for the time-being. We've also dispatched envoys to other prominent Sith in New Adasta, including Lord Lector, successor to the late Darth Cerber."

"Why are we courting impure filth?" Lord Hadrax spat his disgust. A young pureblood of noteworthy power, Hadrax had been one of Orthas' most loyal apprentices. Bald save for a long braid of raven-black hair and bearing the scars of his many battles, the man somehow managed an imposing air despite his relatively short stature. "Darth Orthas never would have needed the aid of false Sith."

"A mistake I would have assumed by now was all too apparent," snapped Astraad, raising his hand to silence Hadrax before the younger Sith could object. "I won't be dragged into this debate with you again. What matters now is that despite appearances to the contrary, our power structure is vulnerable. The Kaggath has taken its toll; that much is undeniable. We need to present ourselves as strong, or we risk inviting the hungry eyes of other aspiring Lords. Courting allies - even the appearance of such - is an effective way to ward off aggressors."

A low chuckle rumbled forth from the last of Lethe's council: Lord Cyriak, a Sith widely known to be more proficient at politics than in combat. Brown locks of hair swept over a face heavily burned - rumor had it Cyriak's previous master once poured boiling water over his face as punishment for a failed coup. "You bring with you much change, Darth Siphon. Though the logic behind Lord Astraad's words are hard to deny, Hadrax is right. Orthas would never have allowed it."

"I value all of your counsel," said Lethe. She chose her words carefully; despite her distaste for Cyriak and Hadrax's clear dislike of her, she knew she would need them - at least for now - if she wanted to cement her position. "Orthas certainly was no fool in selecting his advisors. Similar wisdom will not go unrewarded while I command."

Astraad and Cyriak nodded, bowing their heads slightly in deference. Hadrax crossed his arms over his chest and looked away.

Lethe smiled, forgetting for a moment that her face was hidden by an emotionless mask. But it was the act itself - more than the mistake - that drew her own attention. She never used to smile so freely. She never used to express any emotion at all. But now, from behind an impenetrable visage … Perhaps it was just the role she played. She often imagined Siphon smiling wickedly from behind that metal face, after all. Or perhaps she finally felt free.

A whisper of her nightmare flashed through her mind; Lethe's smile vanished unnoticed. "Continue your report, Astraad."

"Yes, my lord. I have taken the liberty of assembling a tribute to the Dark Council on your behalf. It would not hurt to be in the Council's good graces at the moment."

"What are you including in this tribute?" asked Lethe.

"Minor artifacts of more historical value than anything else. Some journals and writings of ancient Sith, a sample of ancient weaponry. Credits. A show of respect, nothing more."

"Very good. If there is nothing else -"

"Actually," said Cyriak, "there is one more small matter, my lord."

The pureblood paused before continuing. Lethe turned to face him directly. "Yes? What is it?"

"The relatively minor dilemma of the vacancy on this council, my lord. Darth Orthas always relied upon a council of five to advise him in all things. Of course we three remain your dutiful servants, and I assume General Ravain will be taking a position. That said, there remains one seat open."

Hadrax snorted. "And I'm sure you already have someone in mind to fill Hisseratt's shoes, Cyriak. No doubt one of your witless lackeys."

"Pay Hadrax no mind, Darth Siphon," Cyriak said, his sycophantic smile only widening. "But as a matter of fact, I've taken the liberty of drawing up a - shortlist, shall we say? - of suitable candidates my lord would be most wise to consider for the position."

"You want to elevate another weakling who can barely handle their own lightsaber," said Hadrax. "What this council needs is someone who commands respect, who has earned their place as Sith and who respects the long legacy of our teachings."

Lethe grimaced from behind her mask. This was naked ambition; she recognized clearly her advisors' attempts attempt to further broaden their own influence. Siphon had endured similar demands, though not with much patience; she wondered if Orthas often suffered similar power plays.

Siding with either Cyriak or Hadrax would undoubtedly earn one's favor, but at the risk of snubbing the other. That was not a move that would benefit Lethe - not at the moment, anyway. She needed a way to extricate herself from this decision.

"Is our power base in disarray?" she asked finally. "Are we besieged and in need of leadership beyond what you three can offer?"

"No, my lord. But -" Astraad started to respond, but Lethe cut him off.

"Perhaps it is time that this advisory council loses some of its excess weight."

Cyriak protested, apparently appalled at the notion that she would deny him this opportunity to bolster his own influence. "My lord … there have always been five on this council."

"I think you will all find that I appreciate efficiency and effectiveness over outdated tradition." Lethe paused strategically, glancing to both Hadrax and Cyriak. "But … out of respect for your positions, I will consent to reviewing your proposals. Deliver your suggested candidates and I will consider them."

Her words could have been plucked straight from Siphon's tongue: an effective stall tactic that offered suitable respect to opposing parties, only hinting at her true intent. She did not need another overly ambitious Sith Lord whispering in her ear, attempting to exert influence where none had been earned.

She glanced to each of her current advisors to judge their reactions. Cyriak looked mollified. Hadrax appeared furious, though that one always seemed to be angry. She could deal with him and his empty posturing later.

It wasn't until her gaze landed upon Astraad that she began to question herself; his smile brimmed with forced airs and inauthenticity. Astraad had been an invaluable ally and a true advisor through her transition in taking over Orthas' power base - indeed, he had even provided Lethe detailed reports on all of Orthas' Sith followers, including assessments of tactical strengths and weaknesses - but she didn't doubt for one second that he had his own motives for supporting her ascension. And while Lethe could read Cyriak and Hadrax like they were active datapads, Astraad remained a mystery.

No matter. She would unravel Astraad's agenda sooner or later … and these pureblood Sith would all fall in line.

"That will conclude this meeting. You're all dismissed."

She watched as the three purebloods stood up and offered respectful bows - Hadrax however reluctantly - and made to depart. Astraad hung back however, waiting for Lethe to follow. She sighed inwardly. What did he want now?

"What is it Astraad?" she asked. "Have you a list of candidates you'd like me to consider as well?"

"No, my lord. I'm content leaving the politics to Hadrax and Cyriak." said the pureblood, bowing slightly in deference. "I only have a word of advice: you must be cautious in dealing with those two."

"What ever do you mean, Astraad? Are you saying my own advisors pose a threat to me? That they might attempt to undermine me, to seize power from me, to act perhaps anything like a Sith? Why, I would just be flabbergasted at such a prospect, simply and utterly _devastated_."

Lethe hadn't intended to launch into a sarcastic deadpan, but it felt so good to get it out. In truth, she did not expect rebellion from any of her followers. Not yet. Siphon's victory over Orthas was still a mystery to the latter's disciples; they would not challenge her until they were sure they were as strong as their master at the very minimum.

Astraad didn't react at all to Lethe's outburst at all. "I realize that you are a Darth, my lord; I do not doubt your skill on the political stage. But our situation goes beyond simple struggles for power. I'm sure I don't need to remind you that of the last dozen Kaggaths that were fought, how few of them resulted in the unification of two houses at war. And of those who forced such a union, how many managed to survive even six months afterwards? Most tore themselves to pieces within the first month, leaving only the dead to serve as cautionary tales against such an effort."

Lethe hadn't known that, but she would be damned if she let Astraad know it. "I believe we've already overcome that particular challenge," said Lethe. "It's been two months since I assumed command of this faction. And if you'll note, our powerbase - my powerbase - remains standing."

"My point is that a certain degree of caution is warranted," insisted Astraad. "Hadrax is brash, but he nevertheless commands the respect of a particularly ambitious faction within Orthas' old hierarchy. Cyriak - as much as he appears the simpering sycophant - also holds sway, especially among the older and more experienced apprentices. Their support was critical in ensuring our two houses could unite."

"And angering either of them could threaten that unity."

The pureblood shook his head, looking just slightly surprised. "No, my lord. Whether they are angry is irrelevant. They need to respect you. They need to fear you. Anger from a disciple is preferable to contempt from a rebel. Without their fear, the powerbase is doomed to collapse."

Lethe rolled her eyes, knowing that Astraad would only see her mask's blank stare. "They do fear me. I killed their old master. Why else would they follow me now?"

"They follow because your victory over Orthas is a mystery they have yet to solve. They follow because I assure them that our power united can only lead to greater status for us all. None of them would be with you if not for that. Hadrax was particularly resistant to unification. I was only able to convince him based on your victory over Orthas in combat, that if you could defeat him, you must surely be the better Sith. Regrettably, your battle had no witnesses; none can attest to how you bested our former master."

Neither did Lethe. She merely stumbled across his body and her abandoned mask. "Does it matter?" asked Lethe, careful to hide her own ignorance. "It was his corpse - not mine - that was paraded before the battlefield. There could be no greater evidence that I am the stronger Sith."

"Perhaps to most. But Hadrax and Cyriak still ascribe to the traditions that Orthas touted while he was master of this Citadel. They may have gone along with this transition out of ambition for themselves, but they won't know respect for you until they see your power firsthand …"

Astraad paused, eyes darting towards Lethe. For once, she was glad for the mask. She knew what Astraad was waiting for - any true Darth would have demanded either Cyriak or Hadrax - perhaps even both - to be dragged before her, to engage them in single combat and emerge a victor to prove to all that their leadership could not be challenged. As a Darth, defeating two upstart lords should have posed no problem.

The problem was … she was not really a Darth. Lethe didn't know if she would be able to defeat either Cyriak or Hadrax. The latter numbered among Orthas' most powerful disciples, and while former's reputation could not boast the same, he nevertheless had survived dozens of years serving under one of the most ruthless Sith Ziost had ever seen. One didn't outlast the rest of one's class of Sith peers through weakness. And while Lethe certainly numbered among Siphon's strongest … she could not assure victory against Orthas' best.

And therein laid the rub. If she demanded a duel with Cyriak or Hadrax and lost, she would lose everything. Her masquerade as Darth Siphon would have been for nothing; losing a duel to a Lord was a humiliation from which a Darth rarely recovered. Even victory might cost her more than she could afford - if it did not come with ease, her power would be called into question, undermining her authority and opening the door for ambitious disciples and rival Lords to exploit.

No. Lethe had to preserve Siphon's reputation, at least until she amassed enough power to truly embody a Darth. And that meant she would have to deflect Astraad's unspoken challenge. It would be curious to not demand such a duel, yes … but it was the price she had to pay to maintain her cover.

"As I said … you will find that I value efficiency and effectiveness over tradition." Lethe laughed lightly through her mask, grateful that the modulation hid her uncertainty. "Why go through the effort of humiliating my own followers when I can earn their loyalty through other means?"

Astraad could not hide the hint of surprise in his eyes. "As … as you say, my lord Siphon. But if you will not put them in their place, how will you keep them in line?"

"Your concerns are duly noted, Lord Astraad," said Lethe, willfully ignoring his query. She was tired of his prattling. "You are dismissed."

Astraad hesitated only for a second before dutifully retreating from the council chambers. Lethe followed a few minutes later, heading towards the nearest turbolift. Her new quarters in the Citadel resided on the top floor of a thirty-floor high-rise, bought and paid for by Orthas himself. The lift was slow, and hummed its age. Lethe briefly wondered how many had stood in the very place she now did. How many Sith and Imperial dignitaries had Orthas entertained in his stronghold? How much influence and power had run through these halls, wielded at times like blunt cudgels and at others like surgical knives?

She wondered how many of her supposed servants now plotted against her.

Lethe was no fool. She recognized how precarious her situation really was. She may have grasped at power … but at every moment, it struggled against her grip. A single mistake, a single oversight, and her tenuous hold on it would be lost.

She couldn't lose it. Not yet. She still had so much she wanted to accomplish.

Stepping out of the turbolift and into her massive penthouse suite, Lethe breathed out a quiet sigh. Cold but fresh air wafted in from the open windows as speeder traffic buzzed below.

A shiver ran up Lethe's spine.

Over the holocom, one of her operatives' voices rang out. "My lord. We've received a message addressed to you. I've forwarded it to your personal terminal."

"Thank y-"

Her mind exploded in agony. She recognized the the pain, the terror, but recognition did nothing to alleviate the experience. It felt as though an iron gauntlet had closed itself around her skull, pushing inwards at the fingertips, determined to crush, unwilling to yield. It was the Force, unleashed with unadulterated fury.

And then it was gone.

The holocom rang out once more, dulled by Lethe's throbbing head. "My lord? Are you alright?"

There was no one else in her room. She was alone.

It took Lethe a moment to gather herself, breathing a muddled "Yes, I'm fine." But she was anything but fine. Her heart raced, pounding against her chest as the echoes of excruciating pain rippled inward, shook her to her very core.

It took her a second longer to recognize that the message she received had begun an automated playback. A single word manifested in the air, projected by her holo terminal, laying bare an accusation in pulsing, scarlet light:

 _IMPOSTOR._


	3. Usurpers - Chapter 03

**Chapter 3**

* * *

 _Ten Years Prior - Sith Academy, Korriban_

"You and me, Retra. We'll make it out of here. We'll be the ones at the top."

Retra's voice trembled with fear. The back of the overseer's hand had left a visibly scarlet imprint on her face. "You don't know that ... we're going to die here. They're going to kill us."

"I won't let that happen. Trust me. Stick with me, and we'll show them there's a better way. We'll prove that together we are stronger than any of them could be alone."

Her friend looked at her with skepticism.

She pressed their hands together, interlocking their fingers. "You and me. Together, like it's always been."

The gesture brought a smile to Retra's face, wiping away the fear and despair that had taken up residence, at least for a little while. Slowly, Retra nodded.

"Together."

* * *

 _3637 BBY - Siphon's Citadel, New Adasta_

It wasn't possible. How could anyone know that she was not the real Siphon?

Two days had passed since she received the anonymous message accusing her of being a pretender to her throne. An accusation she could not deny.

She had felt her master's death in the Force, she was sure of it. There had been no others present, none to see her pick up her master's golden mask, none to witness her putting it on, testing her voice through the modulation, verifying that she could assume Siphon's very identity. How could any have guessed?

It could be a hoax, a prank. She wouldn't put it past some of her new followers to call her an impostor, a false Sith, a pretender - Orthas had certainly levied those denigrations and more at the real Siphon, like daggers meant to cut away at her credibility. Even so, Lethe suspected that any who wished to challenge her now would have made the accusation openly, not under the anonymity of an encoded message. She found no indication that anybody other than herself knew or had even seen the nature of the message at all. No subtle hints or clever words meant to dig at the allegation from any of her interactions over the last two days.

And then there was that piercing agony that had seized upon her just before she received the message, a pain she felt keenly through the Force. A power that felt both overwhelming and terrifying.

No … someone knew the truth. But who?

Astraad?

The man had been acting strangely, even before she seized Orthas' throne. Could he have discovered her secret somehow? Lethe had already begun to suspect that he was Siphon's double agent within Orthas' power structure; her former master had seemed so confident right before a battle that by all accounts was Orthas' to lose.

And then there was that exchange that Lethe had shared with Astraad at Twinspire's entrance - the man had attacked her, and then severed his own arm … for what? As some sort of theatre? To further sell the magnitude of her power? It was an empty gesture: what was a disciple's arm compared to a master's corpse?

It didn't make any sense. Astraad was only too eager for her to assume Orthas' position. Why would he seek to undermine her now with a hushed indictment?

And yet, she couldn't ignore the possibility. If Astraad truly intended to challenge her authority, she would have to ensure that a battle would work in her favor. She needed to firmly establish her position as the dominant Sith.

Which was why Lethe now headed toward the Citadel's repository. She needed a means to arm herself, to rapidly grow in power before the Astraad and his upstart supporters - or whoever had sent that message - made their moves. She had studied the texts and projects that Orthas had presided over for the last two days, mulled over potential alliances and reinforcements, but none had provided a solution to her need, not without risking revelation of her identity as a fraud. That left only one option. She would scour the collection of Sith artifacts Orthas had accumulated over his years as a Darth. There had to be an answer there, a solution to Lethe's problem. Somewhere in those relics, she would find power.

The price? Whatever it cost, Lethe steeled herself to pay.

As she rounded the corner of the main hall towards Orthas' vault, she heard what sounded to be an argument. She recognized one of the voices: Lord Rime, a sith pureblood whom Hadrax had submitted for consideration to take the empty seat on Lethe's council - the only name, in fact.

Strident and ruthless, Rime had become infamous on Ziost as a merciless killer.

From the sound of it, it seemed he had gotten into a heated exchange with one of the Citadel's slaves. Lethe hung back to observe. Hidden by the corner wall, she had a good view of the whole exchange. The slave was a youthful-looking human woman with strawberry blonde hair and crisp, sea-green eyes. Lethe guessed she was eighteen - twenty, at most. A cart of what looked to be clean laundry had fallen over beside her; Rime had pinned the slave against the wall, gripping both of her wrists above her head as he roared at her, spittle showering her whole torso. "What did I say about taking this route, slave?!"

"Forgive me, master!" said the slave, struggling to free herself, head leaning as far away as she could from her assailant's salivary deluge.

"What is it about you that makes you think you can ignore my express command?" hissed Rime. "I am a lord of the Sith! What are you, but a slave? And what use is a slave if she cannot follow instructions?"

"I was just delivering robes to the apprentices, my lord. I meant no offense!"

Lethe knew the girl's protests would fall on deaf ears. Rime was known for his especially cruel treatment of the Empire's slave caste. He enjoyed tormenting them, torturing and often killing them for minor offenses, sometimes for sport. He insisted the occasional culling ensured others of the slave class would behave; the rest of the lords didn't care one way or the other.

He was a type of Sith Lethe was all too familiar with. She had suffered her share of indignities while she trained at the academy on Korriban, had nearly been executed herself for disobeying her taskmaster's commands. Her training had taken everything from her, had stolen from her a piece of herself that she could never get back. It didn't have to be that way. There was a better way … and now that she was Darth ...

For a brief second, Lethe wondered if she should intercede.

She quashed the thought immediately. There would be no point. Even if she wanted to protect this slave now, Rime would simply find his satisfaction another day. Slaves died all the time in the Empire. It would be impractical to deny a Lord his sport over one middling life.

Or so she told herself.

Still, Lethe found Rime's methods distasteful and the man himself repugnant. Wanton death and destruction served no useful purpose. Not in the new order that Lethe had planned.

"Delivering clothes? A likely story … more like snooping in places you shouldn't be. You need to be taught a lesson."

Lethe watched as the pureblood released one of the woman's hands to reach to his lightsaber. Unclasping it from his belt, he pressed the still-deactivated saber into the slavegirl's gut. She winced, glancing about desperately for aid.

"The lesson will be particularly enlightening for your slave friends. You, on the other hand, probably won't live long enough to appreciate it."

Lethe decided on the spot that this man would never have a seat on her council.

She expected to hear the woman cry out, to hear her scream … but no such sound emerged. Instead, Lethe felt a surge in the Force. At first, she thought Rime was going to choke the slave girl, but his hands remained still, save for his thumb inching towards the activation button on his weapon. In that fraction of a second, the slave had pushed out her now free hand, trying desperately to shove Rime away.

Rime flew five feet into the air and ten feet back, slamming into the opposite wall and falling to his knees with a pained grunt.

Lethe's eyes widened from behind her golden mask. Now _this_ , she had not expected.

"You … you dare lay your hands on me?! You dare strike your master?!"

"Stay away from me!" screamed the woman.

"You've just sealed your fate, _slave_. A quick death is clearly too generous for you. I'm going to make you r-" Rime's words died in his throat as Lethe once again felt a surge swell in the Force. She almost couldn't believe it. The power itself was raw, untested, unrefined … but its potential inspired awe.

More than that, Lethe felt that same sensation she did when she stumbled upon her master's mask: opportunity. She wouldn't risk losing Hadrax's support for any slave … but for an apprentice of her own ...

"N-no," the slave said, voice quivering in terror even as she held her Sith assailant pinned by the throat to the wall. "You won't."

Lethe stepped into view. "Release him."

The slave whirled around, panic-stricken, her eyes filled with equal parts rage and terror as they darted between Lethe and Rime. Lethe could see the cogs spinning behind them: fight or flight, survival or destruction.

She filled her voice with that imperious tone she had so often suffered from her own former master: "Do your ears fail you? Release him, now."

The command finally registered; Lethe could see things click as the girl finally realized who she now faced. She dropped to the ground and released her hold on Rime. "M-mercy, Darth Siphon! Mercy!"

"I'm going to kill you," wheezed Rime, clutching at his neck. "You're _dead!_ "

"Hold that thought, Rime," said Lethe. "Girl, what's your name?"

"Sierra, Master Siphon. I swear, I did not mean any offense. Please."

Rime finally got to his feet, hands flying to his lightsaber. "It's far too late for apologies, you stupid b-"

"Quiet," said Lethe. "I want to hear what Sierra has to say. You are a slave, and yet you're clearly touched by the Force. Tell me, why aren't you at the Sith Academy on Korriban, training to become an apprentice?" She was the right age for it after all, and her potential ... Lethe did not doubt the young woman's powers could easily match her own with the proper training, perhaps even surpass them. The girl, however, did not respond immediately; she glanced from Rime to Lethe and back, clearly still terrified.

"Rime," said Lethe. "Your presence is no longer required."

"Darth Siphon! This slave had the gall to strike me. I demand _satisfaction."_

Lethe whirled around to face the pureblood, projecting her voice into an imperious boom. "You think you can make demands of me? Have you forgotten your place, Rime? Choose your next words carefully … or suffer your former master's fate."

Instantly, Rime demurred. Lethe smiled from behind her mask; she had seen Siphon do this a hundred times: kow upstart apprentices into submission with force of personality alone. It was gratifying to know she could command the same reaction.

"No, my lord," stumbled Rime. "Of course not. I … misspoke."

"That's what I thought. I suggest you run along now. You've tested my patience enough for one day."

She could tell Rime was furious, jaw clenching as he ground his teeth together in frustration. Still, he was either unable or unwilling to challenge her authority; he offered a miniscule bow of the head before retreating without another word.

"Come with me," Lethe said, activating the nearby vault doors and stepping within. She beckoned to the girl to follow her, taking her past shelves of ancient texts and relics, through aisles of datacrons and artifacts. Sierra stepped behind her dutifully, though Lethe could not help but notice the girl glancing around, as though she still suspected Rime might appear at any moment to carry out his threats.

Lethe paused occasionally as well, making mental notes of artifacts and holocrons she thought had potential; she had only been here twice since she had assumed ownership of the Citadel. Astraad had ensured that only she and those she authorized had access to this vault of vast knowledge. The only reason she had not delved deep into its stores earlier was to fend off the impression that she needed to bolster her own power to command the Citadel's denizens. She needed to assure her new power base that their new leader remained strong, independently powerful … without needing to resort to stealing a hated enemy's secrets.

With the possibility that a traitor could be at large, however, Lethe had no choice but to leap headfirst into Orthas' stores of knowledge. Somewhere here, she would have to find a way to overcome her enemies, both those hidden and those lying in plain sight.

First, however, she would explore this opportunity that had walked straight into her path.

Lethe and Sierra finally reached a small study tucked in a far corner of the repository. She took her seat at a magnificently ornate desk; she directed Sierra to take the seat across from her with a wave of her hand. "Now that we're alone … I think it's time you answered my question."

Sierra paled. "I …"

"It's a simple question, Sierra. You are connected to the Force … you command it with ease; more than even many apprentices. And yet you remain a slave. Why are you not training at the academy? Why have you not reached for the title of an apprentice to the Sith?"

Still, the blonde-haired girl balked.

Lethe sighed audibly. "... perhaps I was wrong about you. Perhaps I should have let Rime have his way. Shall I fetch him?"

Sierra shook her head vehemently. "N-no, master Siphon. I … I'll tell you."

Lethe sank into her chair for more comfort, motioning with her hand for Sierra to continue.

"I did spend time on Korriban … but I never attained the rank of apprentice."

"You failed your trials … and yet you live?" Lethe's modulated voice did not carry skepticism well, but it would have to do.

"I … I fled the Academy," said Sierra. "The overseer, he … he favored the purebloods among my class. No matter how well I did in the trials, no matter how much stronger I became, he never acknowledged me. I soon realized he never would. He was determined to see his favored pupils ascend and leave the rest of us to languish. I couldn't overcome him … so I ran."

"Let me guess," said Lethe. "Harkun."

Sierra nodded. It wasn't a difficult guess; Overseer Harkun was a renowned xenophobe and classist among the apprentices at the Academy.

"I stowed away on a freighter to Ziost," Sierra continued. "It wasn't hard to convince the nearest local lord that I was a regular slave, looking for a master. I've been hiding my powers ever since then."

"Until Lord Rime forced your hand."

Sierra nodded, shivering. "I … I've endured beatings and humiliation before, but it was different this time. Lord Rime was going to kill me, I - I was only defending myself, my lord, you must believe me."

"Of that, I have no doubt. Putting aside your status as a deserter, I'm afraid the fact that you were acting in self defense won't save you from the wrath of a sith lord."

Sierra's eyes didn't blink. "I'm doomed no matter what then."

"So quick to leap to conclusions," Lethe chuckled lightly; the sound that emitted after modulation sent chills down even her own spine. "If you are resigned to being executed, I certainly can't stop you. I think you'll find the alternative I have in mind just slightly more appealing, however."

"My lord?"

"I think you just might be the solution to a vexing dilemma."

"Dilemma? Master Siphon, I -"

Lethe continued, unabated. "I trust you've been trained in the saber forms?"

Sierra nodded.

"Good. Rime favors Makashi, but tends to transition to Djem So when he cannot overwhelm his opponents with the former. His transition between those two forms is critical; it presents a singular opportunity to take advantage of a blunder in his training, where he exposes a vulnerability on which you can capitalize."

At least, if the intelligence she had received from Astraad was to be believed. It had not failed Lethe yet.

"My lord, I don't understand. What is it you want me to do?" asked Sierra.

"Isn't it obvious?" Lethe smiled from behind her mask, the wheels in her mind spinning with possibilities. "I want you to kill Lord Rime."


	4. Usurpers - Chapter 04

**Chapter 4**

* * *

Ziost's two moons hung like lanterns in the sky, only partially shrouded by storm clouds. Rays of moonlight shimmered through the windows in Lethe's quarters, painting her room with a faint glow, while a chilling breeze made her breath visible on the air. Lethe debated closing the window and adjusting the environmental controls, but thought better of it. The chill brought a sharpness to her mind, one she suspected she would need.

She settled into the seat beside her personal terminal and then activated her holocom, issuing a directive to the Citadel's central security station. "Redirect the commissary camera feed to the console in my quarters."

Agent Shiro Thresh, a crotchety pureblood Sith who had served Orthas for over thirty years, responded. "My lord?"

Lethe never thought she would grow weary of hearing those two words. Then again, she never anticipated she would hear them so often posed as a question to her commands. "Just do it. Now."

The agent did as instructed and her console whirred to life, giving her a good view of the Citadel's commissary. Rows of tables and benches lined the large hall; from the camera's vantage point, Lethe could see almost the entire room. In the dead of night, it was entirely abandoned save for a frail-looking young woman - Sierra. The girl looked surprisingly stoic as she proceeded to half-heartedly mop the floors; the faint crimson ceiling lights bathed the room in a bloody hue and gave Sierra a foreboding appearance.

Lethe smiled curiously from behind her mask; there was something about this girl that she found intriguing.

The next hour would decide her fate.

Lethe activated a separate comlink. "Don't speak. Dump that carton of blue milk on the table to your right down the nearest sink and I'll know you can hear me."

Sierra obliged, then returned to mopping the floors, glancing about as inconspicuously as she could manage. "Are you sure this is going to work, Master?" Sierra whispered.

"I said _don't speak_. Don't worry. There's no way Rime will let your grievance go unanswered. He'll find you."

"That wasn't what I was worried about," Sierra muttered as she adjusted her earpiece, pulling at her strawberry blonde hair to ensure her link to her master was hidden. Lethe sensed the rising tension in the slave girl's body language and decided to forego rebuking her for speaking yet again. She needed the young woman to be on her game for their gamble to pay off.

The reality was Lethe had no idea if her plan would work … neither did it really matter. She risked little in making this move. All she needed was to drag out a battle between Sierra and Rime; if she had evidence that Rime had trouble putting down a simple 'slave', she could discredit and disqualify him from ever taking a seat on her council. Hadrax would have no choice but to withdraw Rime's nomination. A small victory, yes, but Lethe had no problem asserting her dominance one step at a time.

In truth, Lethe doubted Sierra would survive the night … but if the slave girl could eliminate Rime completely, Lethe certainly would not object. Of course, she wasn't going to tell Sierra that.

"Remember. Follow my instructions and you'll be fine," said Lethe.

Through the video feed, Lethe watched as Sierra's grip on her mop handle tightened. "I can taste blood in the air."

"Don't you know yet? It's yours."

The durasteel doors to the commissary shunted open. Lord Rime stepped into the dining hall proper and whipped out his lightsaber without any fanfare; the scarlet blade spurred to life with a crackling hiss. Lethe set her video feed to record.

Sierra backed up two steps. "It doesn't have to be this way, Lord Rime. Please!"

The girl was already going off script. "Don't beg. Break out your lightsaber."

"Siphon might have saved you this afternoon, but she can't protect you forever," said Rime. "Even she has to realize that a slave isn't worth risking my support, or that of Lord Hadrax." The Sith lord brandished his weapon, assuming - as Lethe predicted - the first stance of a Makashi offensive.

"Now or never, Sierra," whispered Lethe into the comlink. "Show me you have what it takes. Show me Harkun was wrong about you. Show me you are _Sith._ "

Sierra took a deep breath.

Rime charged.

The Sith lord's lightsaber flashed forward and back with lightning-quick strikes. For a second, Lethe thought it was all over. Rime moved with the practiced skill and familiarity of a master - Orthas' apprentices were all expert duelists - and his attacks were delivered with precise intent. Facing this onslaught, Lethe feared her failed apprentice's defense would collapse.

Instead, Sierra dodged each of Rime's attacks, countering with thrusts of her mop aimed at Rime's head and chest.

Rime laughed, dodging the attacks easily while baring his yellowed teeth. "You still haven't learned, have you? You are a _slave_ ; you don't have the right to strike at me!"

With three decisive swings, Rime severed Sierra's makeshift weapon into four pieces, leaving only the handle in the girl's hands. Sierra didn't flinch. She flipped what remained of the mop over; from the hollow interior, an apprentice's training saber fell out. The girl caught it in her free hand and then activated it. A crimson blade emerged to match Rime's own lightsaber.

Of course, Lethe had arranged for that little gift. Training sabers weren't exactly ideal weapons, but it was all Lethe could manage on short notice. Plus, it would draw the least attention in an investigation and be the most difficult to trace back to her.

Sierra pointed her blade at Rime, dropping into the first of the basic Shii-Cho defensive stances.

"Step into Soresu," said Lethe through the comlink. "Rime's Makashi will pulverize you unless you can parry every single one of his attacks."

Sierra reacted immediately, but her movements did not go unnoticed by Rime. "Not just sensitive to the Force, but trained with a lightsaber? You are no ordinary slave, are you? No wonder you seem so eager to rush to your death."

The two opponents began circling each other as Lethe's holocom activated once more. Thresh spoke, panic in his voice. "My lord, are you seeing this? There's some sort of attack going on in the commissary. Should we dispatch a security team?"

"No. Lord Rime can handle it." Lethe didn't even bother turning to face the agent. She needed to focus on the battle.

"Are y- … Yes, my lord." The hesitation was evident in the agent's voice, but Lethe ignored it.

Rime made the first move, delivering a series of rapid thrusts. Sierra parried each, dropping low to attempt a sweeping counterattack. Rime dodged backwards, so fast that his whole body was barely a blur through the video feed. As he landed, he slammed his hands forward and then yanked them back, catching Sierra with the Force and pulling her towards him with horrendous speed.

"Don't let him control the tide of battle. Make him fight on your terms."

"UNNGH!" Sierra grunted as she broke free of Rime's grip at the last second, leaning backwards to slide a hair's width beneath a slashing attack that would have bisected her had it connected. Not pausing, she leaped over a table, kicking her foot down on the edge and using momentum to bring it up as a makeshift wall. A jolt of lightning followed not half a second later, striking the plasteel harmlessly.

Lethe was impressed, but there wasn't time for praise. "Keep your eyes on your enemy. If you miss his transition to Djem So, you'll have missed your best chance to survive this battle!"

Sierra leaped out from her cover, eyes darting to find her opponent, but Rime had anticipated her move. He dashed forward and sliced downwards with his blade, aiming to cut into Sierra's shoulder; she barely reacted in time, bringing her own saber up to guard. The collision sent sparks showering everywhere.

"Mongrel filth! You dare defend yourself?!"

Lethe scoffed; Rime's words amplifying her disgust. His arrogance was more boundless than she had thought. She held no expectations that Sierra would emerge the victor here, but she hoped - now more than ever - that it was this failed apprentice that would emerge the victor.

Sierra was doing well, all things considered. Lethe had the footage she needed; the slave had delayed Rime's vengeance, longer than Lethe had hoped. With this, she could defame him, and force Hadrax to withdraw his nomination, all without being accused of favoritism or bias against the contender. After submitting a disgrace like Rime for consideration, Hadrax's future counsel would also be undermined in the eyes of the entire power base.

At this point, the girl was entirely expendable.

And still, she couldn't help but root for this slave, this failed apprentice who abandoned the Academy. Not just because Rime was a self-important imbecile. She saw something in the girl - something that reminded Lethe of herself. "Stay cautious," she whispered through the comlink. "It won't be long now."

Sierra, still struggling to keep Rime's overhead swing from cutting into her shoulder, summoned the Force to fling nearby benches at the pureblood. The first smacked into Rime's head; screaming his fury, the pureblood redirected his attention to the incoming debris, knocking his lifeless assailants aside with swings from his free arm.

The distraction was enough to allow Sierra to break free from their stalemate; she dashed away from Rime as quickly as she could - towards Lethe's camera. "Reposition," said Lethe. "You're moving outside my field of vis-"

But it was too late. Rime pursued with a thrilling howl, boxing Sierra into a corner of the room before she could escape: the corner just beneath the camera, just outside its view. Lethe cursed under her breath. There weren't any other cameras in the commissary. Sierra would have to fight without her direct guidance.

"Remember, strike when you see him change saber forms!"

For what seemed like an eternity, all she could hear were the vicious swings of lightsabers and their collisions with each other as sparks sprayed in all directions. Her video feed bathed in the crimson light from the duelists' weapons. Without being able to see what was happening, Lethe could only wait. She briefly considered heading to the commissary herself, before dismissing the idea. Better to let things play out; she couldn't risk being accused of actively siding with a rebellious slave or she would risk invalidating everything she had accomplished

A howl pierced the comfeed, unmistakably Rime's, bursting with rage. A pained cry followed from Sierra. "N-no, please! Mercy! Mercy!"

It was over. Lethe heard the unmistakable sizzle of a lightsaber piercing flesh, followed by the thunk of a body hitting the ground. A resigned sigh escaped her lips … still, she had what she needed. Sierra's death would not be wasted, her sacrifice, not forgo-

A lithe young woman's body emerged back into the camera feed. Sierra was exhausted, struggling to keep herself standing, but there was no doubt: she was alive.

 _That could only mean ..._

Lethe felt a surge of adrenaline course through her veins. A victory for the deserving. Death for the pompous and unworthy. There could be no sweeter outcome.

"My lord?!" came the startled cry from the security command center. "Are you seeing this? Lord Rime … I think he's fallen!"

"Yes, it does appear that way, doesn't it?" said Lethe, not bothering to hide her utter apathy at the Sith lord's death, indeed, desperately trying to ensure her glee could not be discerned from her tone.

A screeching alarm began ringing out through the Citadel. The fool Thresh had activated a stronghold-wide alert.

"Sending word to Lord Hadrax. I'll have a security detail rendezvous with him and -"

"Belay that," snapped Lethe. "This matter is beneath Hadrax. Your security team will be enough to arrest that woman. Have her brought directly to my quarters - unharmed. Do you understand?"

"My lord, she's slain Lord Rime!"

"DO AS I SAY, Thresh. And silence that infuriating alarm."

Begrudgingly, Thresh conceded. "As you command, Darth Siphon."

As soon as the communication with the central security station cut out, Lethe returned her attention to the failed apprentice that had slain a Sith lord. The girl seemed unsure of what to do with herself, continuously glancing towards the camera.

"You've done marvelously, Sierra. Truly, magnificent work."

"I … what should I do now?"

"Put down your weapon and be ready to surrender yourself. I've sent a security detail to fetch you. Do not resist."

Sierra nodded, setting down her training saber and preemptively putting her hands behind her head as she fell to her knees. " … is it over?"

Lethe smiled, unseen. "It's only the beginning for you."

As Thresh's team descended into the commissary, Lethe deactivated the comlink and adjusted her robes. The exhilaration from her victory still rushed through her veins; in one fell swoop, she had eliminated Rime, undermined Hadrax's credibility, and gained an invaluable tool. Things could not have gone better.

All that remained was to welcome the young woman that was about to become her first true apprentice.


	5. Usurpers - Chapter 05

**Chapter 5**

* * *

Orthas' repository held a whole host of lost artifacts; from datacrons to ancient lightsabers, the vault housed them all upon shelves and pedestals that lined the entire room. Lethe strolled the aisles casually, commanding the Force to extract the relics she had noted on her earlier trip, compelling them to trail behind her in what must have looked like an odd procession of levitating curios.

"What are we doing here, master?" asked Sierra.

"We are arming ourselves with as much power as we can, apprentice. I suspect some among my followers will not be pleased you slew Lord Rime. You need to be prepared; I will not always be present to protect you."

It was a half truth; Lethe saw no reason to share her own dire need for power with her fledgling apprentice. But having an aid in delving through the secrets of these relics would still be helpful … and had an added bonus of keeping Sierra out of the reach of any of Rime's vengeful friends.

"I … I see. I apologize, my lord, it was not my intention to burden."

"Burden? No. You've already done me a great service."

Sierra paused thoughtfully before asking " … was Lord Rime your enemy?"

Lethe chuckled humorlessly. "I'm surprised your experience with your overseer has not taught you more of what it means to be Sith. Enemies are everywhere, Sierra. Even among allies. That is the first and most important lesson you should learn if you want to survive in the Empire."

"Are … we enemies? I mean … I would never consider you an enemy, master, but … what you said ..."

Lethe paused mid-step; the cloud of relics hovering between her and Sierra froze in place. She turned around and looked upon the girl more closely. She looked impossibly young for an eighteen year old, decorated with a splash of idealism that the Empire had somehow not managed to quash in her spirit even after years of slavery and servitude.

"What would you do if I said we were?" asked Lethe.

Sierra did not speak for a long moment. " … I don't know."

"Honest," said Lethe, appraising the girl's reaction carefully. "We'll have to do something about that."

"You didn't answer my question," insisted Sierra.

"Overly curious. That could be deadly too …" Lethe turned around and returned to perusing the shelves. "No, Sierra. We are not enemies. Not now. But if history is any indication, it is inevitable that we will be one day. It is an apprentice's destiny, after all, to either surpass their master, or to be killed in the attempt."

"Then why help me? Why do any of this if we're destined to fight each other? Why would any Sith take any apprentices?"

Lethe chuckled at the girl's naivete. "Because while we may betray and be betrayed, we may still have use for each other up until that point. And even in that betrayal, or perhaps because of that betrayal, we come to know our limits, come to know ourselves better than we otherwise ever would. There is much to be learned in betrayal … by both master and pupil."

"Through passion, we gain strength," said Sierra.

Lethe nodded, but in her heart of hearts, she did not believe what she said. She parroted Siphon's teachings, outmoded _Sith_ teachings, but wasn't even sure why. She did not need to convince a slave that she was the 'real' Siphon.

Perhaps she had worn the mask for too long.

"Does that mean you killed your own master too?" Sierra considered that fact for a minute before continuing. "What was your master like?"

Normally, incessant questioning would have driven Lethe to extreme aggravation, but with this young woman - ten years her junior, who so reminded Lethe of herself at that age - she found herself more willing than usual to answer. The problem with this particular question? She knew precious little about Siphon's master, apart from what the rest of the Empire already knew. Thankfully, the man was dead and his powerbase scattered. No one would refute what she said about him now.

"Baras. And no, I did not have the privilege of slaying him. But that only means I will not have to step over his particular corpse to surpass him."

"That name … is familiar."

Lethe quirked a brow from behind her mask. "I would have thought even an apprentice-in-training would have recognized the name of the False Voice."

"You don't mean … _Darth Baras_. Defeated by the true Wrath of the Emperor." Sierra let loose a breath of awe.

Lethe nodded. "The one and the same. He was ambitious, to say the least. I suppose we have that in common. Then again, few Sith would disclaim that description."

Perhaps one day Lethe would reveal the truth to Sierra. But for now, the lies would have to do. Thankfully, the girl did not press the matter further.

Lethe found the last of the relics she had been searching for and then motioned for Sierra to follow her back to the study. There, she used the Force to gently set down the stack of holocrons and ancient tablets she had gathered, careful not to allow them to disturb each other.

"They whisper," said Sierra. "Is that … supposed to happen?"

Lethe nodded. The whispers of thousands years' worth of knowledge at her fingertips. "Secrets, waiting to be heard. Of wisdom, of power. You should be honored, Sierra. None have had the privilege of enjoying the bounty that this vault contains, save for Darth Orthas and myself."

The girl nodded obediently, a hesitant smile spreading across her face. "Where do we start?"

"Take the tablets. Translating them is your first task. I will review the other relics."

Sierra grimaced, but had the sense not to make a fuss. "Yes, master."

They began their arduous work. Sierra perused the tablets particularly slowly; apparently transcription and translation were not her strong suits. Lethe could not be bothered with aiding her, however. The tablets were busywork to keep Sierra out of Lethe's way. She had real power to seek, and dozens of relics from which to siphon that power: there was the Holocron of the Seven Moons, left by a Sith lord who had once challenged Naga Sadow on Korriban; the lightsaber of Kaigan Threnn, a fallen Jedi who had been amongst those who discovered Ziost; the Insidious Focus, a Massassi ritualistic totem that had survived countless millenia.

Lethe delved deep into the hearts of these relics, all of them … and yet, she gained but superficial knowledge. A smattering of power - not nearly what she had hoped. Not enough to defend against the real Siphon.

Days passed with master and pupil buried in the vault's study. From dawn to dusk, they buried themselves in the work, their only rest coming when the twin moons of Ziost dared to signal that another day had passed. The research progressed at an agonizing pace, and frustratingly, without results. Lethe threw aside artifact after artifact. Nothing here was of any use.

 _How could this vault of knowledge contain nothing but outmoded techniques and discredited teachings?!_

Finally, after examining what must have been the seventh discredited replica of a holocron that supposedly belonged to Darth Revan, Lethe could not contain her frustration any longer. In a fit of fury, she swept aside all of the relics still remaining on her desk, sending them flying. Some of them combusted in sparks and flame as they touched each other. Others merely fell to the ground, impotent and empty.

Sierra tried to placate her: "Don't worry, master. We'll find something. I know we will … and I should have said this earlier. Thank you. For everything you've done for me."

The girl still thought Lethe's efforts were to save her. It was … quaint. And unlike any Sith Lethe had ever met. Except, perhaps Lord Rend, the real Siphon's favored disciple. He had died in the battle against Orthas but had a similarly curious personality. She couldn't say she disliked it … she never had to fear politicking and backstabbing from Rend.

"Why do you want to be Sith, Sierra?" she asked. "Don't think. Just answer."

"I …"

Lethe shook her head. "Ah-ah. Just answer."

Sierra nodded. "Power. I want power."

That's what it always came down to, didn't it?

"Why do you want power?" Lethe pressed.

"I … I never want to be hurt like Lord Rime was going to hurt me, like he and others like him had done so many times before. Never again. I thought I could go back to being a slave, to keeping my head down and minding my own business, praying that no one would notice me, that no one would see me and think I was … prey, to be hunted. A victim, to be toyed with. Never again. _Never again._ "

Her voice was shaking by the end of her answer, but her hands had curled into resolute fists, determined and proud.

"... It's not enough."

Sierra's fists faltered. "My lord?"

"It's not enough to defend yourself," said Lethe, speaking from her heart for the first time in a long time. "You have to use it to control. To assert your dominance. To master. That's the only way you can ensure that no one will ever dare hurt you again."

"But … you said that -"

Lethe ignored her apprentice. "I'm going to tell you a story. Tell me the lesson you see in it."

 _Once, there were two friends, young, born to slaves, closer than sisters. Inseparable. Both touched by the Force. When their latent talents were discovered, their master sent them to the Academy on Korriban._

 _The younger of the two girls was the stronger one. Though the older girl was powerful in her own right, next to her friend, her talent was a pale imitation. Even so, for many months their friendship endured, surviving the trials, overcoming the challenges that would have torn asunder weaker alliances. They both earned their elevation beyond slavery, and together, they promised each other that they would seize power to enact change. They would overthrow antiquated traditions and hierarchies. They would be better than all the rest._

 _Both girls fell under the tutelage of the same Sith Lord. For some time further, their ambitions remained united even as the younger girl far-surpassed her friend. Both were ambitious, but it was the younger one that drew all their master's attention. She was on track to become lord; indeed, was lord in all but name, when their master came to her with a final test. They spoke in private about the girl's future, her title, her soon-to-be new name. And then the conversation turned to the nature of that last trial. That last challenge, on which rested the deciding factor over whether she ever became more than a mere apprentice._

 _The price of ascension was the blood of her sister. Her master saw their friendship as a crutch, a weakness. Only one of them could survive._

 _Naturally, the young Sith girl was horrified. To survive, to ascend, she would have to make an unthinkable sacrifice. She would have to choose between herself and her friend. A sister in all but name. One whose loyalties were unfaltering, beyond reproach._

 _For three days, she tarried, stuck in an unbreakable loop of emotion. Finally, she came to her decision._

 _She approached her friend … and begged her to flee. She would not betray her sister, her family. They were blood beyond what ran through her veins. Together, they could escape, make new lives for themselves, realize their dreams in another way. She pulled at her friend's arm, desperate to bring them both to safety._

 _Her friend put a lightsaber through her chest. Their master had come to her too … had wanted to see who would have the conviction of purpose, would have the ambition to -_

Lethe stopped speaking, struggling to contain the emotion of memories she thought long buried. The tear that welled up at the corner of her right eye was still hidden by her mask, but she could not afford the tremble that threatened to make its way into her voice.

After a long pause, Sierra finally spoke. "That's … horrible."

"The tale was not told to elicit sympathy," Lethe hissed, even as the tear in her eye trickled down her cheek, cold against the metal of her mask. "There is a crucial lesson to be learned … what do you think it is?"

Sierra considered for a long moment before finally answering. "She should not have let love for her friend drag her down."

Lethe shook her head in frustration. "No, no. Love is not a choice. Love is a compulsion. Love defies reason, defies free will. The girl could no more change her feelings for her friend, anymore than a crystal could change its own color."

"Then … she should have ignored her feelings, she should have cast them aside to strike the first blow."

"No. Their mistake was accepting the premise their master had presented at all. If she had only united with her sister, had joined in purpose … they could have defeated their master. They could have proved that ridiculous trial to be the farce that it was. They could have chosen defiance."

 _Did Sierra not understand? Was it a mistake for Lethe to have chosen her?_

"Don't you see?" asked Lethe. "This is why power is meant for more than simply to shield, to defend, to protect. Power is needed for control. For rebellion and for domination. For victory. No amount of power could have shielded the girl from a sister's betrayal, but with enough power, they could have defied their master from the beginning."

"I … I see." But Sierra's voice could not hide her doubt.

Perhaps there was a reason beyond Harkun's prejudice that Sierra had failed the trials after all. Lethe was beginning to question whether she had made the right choice in saving this girl. She regretted relaying the story now, a tale too close to her actual history to offer to an unreliable ally. Perhaps she would have to take measures -

"My lord," said Sierra. "If it is power we seek, why don't we turn to the Holocrons of Ancient Sorcery?"

Lethe whirled around. _How could she have forgotten?_

"When Darth Orthas defeated Darth Miro, he captured the holocrons as spoils of his victory," the girl continued. "They have to be here somewhere, right?"

The Holocrons of Ancient Sorcery. Lethe had heard Siphon covet these holocrons for a decade, had watched her insinuate herself into Miro's good graces for just a chance at snatching them from the aged Sith's clutches. When Orthas struck first and seized the holocrons, Siphon's rage could be felt through the Force. Through all this time, the rumors of the powers they granted were the things of myths: eternal life, unprecedented control of the Force, unparalleled knowledge and insight. The only caveat: none had ever been able to decipher their encryption and unlock their secrets.

Had he done so, Lethe suspected Orthas would not have fallen in that final battle at Twinspire Keep.

But, she had not seen the holocrons anywhere in Orthas' repository.

"Retire to my quarters for now, Sierra. Your suggestion has merit, but I must attend to other matters at the moment."

"But Master -"

One look from Lethe silenced her, and Sierra obediently dismissed herself.

Lethe would properly reward her later. She did not doubt that her initial inventory of the vault had been thorough, but it would not hurt to do another search, in private. In the meantime …

She activated her comlink and directed its signal to her intelligence operation. "Agent Thresh."

"Yes, my lord," came the immediate response. "How can I serve?"

"The Holocrons of Ancient Sorcery. Where are they?"

She expected surprise, but Thresh responded without missing a beat. "Those ancient Sith cubes? I believe they are being included in a tribute to the Dark Council. Is something the matter?"

Lethe didn't understand. "Why would we offer those as -"

A realization struck her like violent lightning. Astraad had arranged the tribute. What was he playing at, relinquishing relics as powerful as these were supposed to be?

"My lord? I'm not … I'm not sure, exactly. The preparations were made in accordance with Lord Astraad's instructions."

"I am overriding those instructions now. Deliver the Holocrons to me."

"Of course, Darth Siphon," said Thresh, his voice as confused as ever. "I'll have them withdrawn from the tribute immediately and sent to your quarters. Shall I assume you wish to continue to keep their existence a secret from the rest of your disciples, my lord?"

"... yes." Lethe cursed beneath her breath. Something was afoot here; she could almost hear it, like a whisper just out of range. "Who currently among my followers know of the holocrons?"

"Darth Orthas ordered me to keep silent about them. I do not know who else he told, but when you assumed command, Lord Astraad indicated to me that you wished to maintain Orthas' veil of secrecy. I had assumed those were your instructions."

 _Astraad._ Was this his goal all along? Was this why he supported Siphon's bid to win the Kaggath and unify their powerbases? If he was delivering the holocrons to the Dark Council, did they hold his true loyalties?

Something else struck Lethe's realization. Thresh' words: Orthas ordered him to keep silent about the holocrons. She had no doubt the agent was telling the truth. Orthas would not have wanted his disciples coveting the relics, plotting to steal them from their own master. But then … how could Sierra have known about them?

"Thresh. Listen to me very carefully. If Lord Astraad attempts to impart my voice to his words again, verify them with me before you take any action. Do you understand?"

"Of course m-my lord."

"Do not tell him of anything we've discussed today. If I find that you have betrayed me, that you place your loyalty to a Lord above a Darth … trust me, I will ensure that you and yours pay the ultimate price. Is that clear?"

"A-absolutely. You are my lord and m-master, I dare not defy you."

"Good." Lethe disconnected the comlink. She paused for a second, and then dashed it against the nearest wall, watching it shatter into a dozen pieces.

Was this what leadership meant in the Empire? Was this what Siphon and Orthas and the Dark Council all had to contend with on a daily basis? Treachery and machinations at every turn, plots within plots to unravel her efforts and steal what was rightfully hers. Astraad, attempting to conceal his effort to deliver the Holocrons of Ancient Sorcery to the Dark Council. Sierra, possessing knowledge that no slave should reasonably possess.

One way or another, she would get to the bottom of this.


	6. Interlude 01

**Interlude**

* * *

 _3637 BBY - Lord Beral's Estate, Kaas City_

"Did you hear, my lord? The latest news from Ziost?"

Lord Beral sliced smoothly into the perfectly seared bantha steak before her. She gently dipped a piece into a rosey garlic sauce before placing the morsel into her mouth, savoring the taste and texture of the meat first only with her tongue. Her teeth chewed into the flesh, releasing more savory juice with each bite. She swallowed, allowing herself a moment to enjoy the rush of satisfaction that only came with unrepentant consumption.

Finally, she looked to her companion, a rather meager looking human sith with greying hair and a receding hairline; in comparison to Beral's own towering figure, the man seemed like a child. "Of course, it's been the talk of all the intelligence networks for the last two months. Siphon has toppled Orthas." She directed a penetrating gaze towards him. " … Most seemed certain that such an outcome was unthinkable."

"What's more interesting is how she managed to convince Orthas' followers to fall into line."

Beral looked up from her meal to her companion; the observation was a particularly shrewd one to come from Pallas; as a middling sith lord of no notable accomplishments, he did not frequently offer valuable insight. Beral indulged his presence mostly because he offered a reliable source of news.

" … you're not eating, Pallas. Is the meat not rare enough for your tastes?"

She asked the question knowing full well that Pallas preferred his steak well-done. The man had only touched the outer edges of the flank of meat, slicing the thinnest of strips he could and drowning them in the nearby mushroom sauce.

Still, she knew that he would loathe to refuse her, and therefore be forced to pretend to be delighted at the meal. It was an unsubtle method Beral enjoyed employing to reinforce the fact that his status stood firmly beneath hers.

"N-no, not at all. It's quite delicious, truly."

Beral smiled, glancing from Pallas - his face now filled with grim determination to complete his meal - to outside the enormous bay window that lined the wall to her dining chamber. Rain splattered against the glass, unrelenting as it ever was at Kaas City. She turned back to her meal and carved another hunk of meat; it dripped with juice even as she delivered it to her waiting tongue.

"So … how long do you give it before Siphon is assassinated by her 'followers?'"

"It's difficult to say," Pallas said, still struggling to swallow steak that Beral suspected he had only barely chewed. It took him a few gulps before his throat cleared enough to speak again. "My spies tell me there are already whispers of sedition seeping through her ranks, but it's too early to tell whether they can unite against her."

"I must admit I am very intrigued to see how this will play out." She downed her last bite of bantha with a gloriously aged glass of Kaas red. "Keep an eye on the situation for me, won't you my dear?"

"As you wish, Lord Beral. A favor for an ally is only to be expected."

Beral caught the sith eyeing her intently, clearly eager for any sign that he could conclude their repast.

"Ally? Come now, Pallas. You are a welcome guest in my home and at my table. My best chef has prepared his finest meal for you. Certainly we can call each other friends?"

Pallas blinked, taken aback. "I supp- I mean, of course, Lord Beral. My friend."

"Very good. Come then, my friend, you still have so much of your meal left! And while you dine, I think this will be a good opportunity for you to shed some light on all the delightful gossip you've heard since we last met."

Pallas could not quite hide the look of disappointment from his face. Beral smiled, unabashed.


	7. Usurpers - Chapter 06

**Chapter 6**

* * *

 _3637 BBY - Siphon's Citadel, New Adasta_

The doors to Lethe's chambers slid open smoothly. Sierra was waiting for her in the antechamber, looking anxious as she fiddled with her fingers.

"Did you find them, Master?" Sierra asked.

Lethe wasted no time and seized the girl's robes, dragging her forward in a fluid demonstration of physical strength. "How did you know about the holocrons?!"

"M-my lord?!"

"Thresh tells me that only a select few were informed of the holocrons' existence. How is it that a failed apprentice masquerading as a slave came to learn of them?"

Frantically, Sierra clutched at Lethe's arm. "I - I was a slave to Darth Miro! He was the Sith lord that accepted me into his care. You must believe me, master, please!"

 _A slave to Miro. That in itself wasn't outside the realm of possibility. A slave could have easily been taken as spoils; Orthas could have taken her when he slew Miro, but ..._

Lethe didn't relent, pushing Sierra up against the wall, forcing her hand around the apprentice's neck. "That begs the same question. Why would Miro allow you to have this knowledge?"

Choking, Sierra could barely answer, "I was his personal attendant. He trusted me."

There was one way Lethe could know for sure. She reached into the Force, drawing into a well of power that few others could match, a talent that even the real Siphon had acknowledged in her. With her thumb, she pushed Sierra's chin upwards so that the girl faced the ceiling. With the Force, she pushed inwards, tearing down her fledgling apprentice's mental walls, breaching the sealed gates that barred access to the girl's mind.

Sierra screamed her agony.

Lethe _saw._ She witnessed flashes of Sierra's memory, felt the adrenaline course through the girl's veins in her battle with Rime. She felt the terror the girl felt during their confrontation in the halls, experienced the uncertainty and doubt that was hearing the news that Orthas had been defeated and that a new master now made her way to the Citadel.

Lethe pushed deeper. The walls were strong, stronger than many who had been trained in the Force. Sierra fought her, fought the invasion of her mind. It was an instinct, Lethe knew, a reflex to defend herself, a barrier thrown up to keep invaders out.

They fell nonetheless against Lethe's unrelenting assault. This was always her specialty. Sierra was no match.

She saw the day that Orthas stormed Darth Miro's stronghold, witnessed the terror as the pureblood struck down her master as he pleaded for mercy. She saw flashes of Sierra's servitude, her waiting upon the decrepit Sith lord, the day that Miro found her crawling through the streets of New Adasta. She felt the anxiety of being a stowaway on a ship, the determination to survive, to overcome.

She had seen enough. It was all true.

Lethe released her hold and Sierra slumped against the wall, falling to her knees.

"Such … power," said Sierra breathlessly, her chest heaving in exhaustion.

"You suffered it bravely," replied Lethe, nodding her approval. "I had to know the truth."

"Then … you believe me?" asked Sierra.

"Yes, though dragging the truth from your mind was not as easy a task as I imagined. Your mental defenses are far superior to any apprentice I have ever known."

Still panting, Sierra got back on her feet. "Darth Miro's work. He knew others would seek the Holocrons' power, and did not want his attendant's mind to be a source of vulnerability."

"It seemed he had plenty of vulnerabilities of his own, to be defeated so easily," said Lethe. "Why didn't he use the Holocrons' power to defend himself?"

"I don't know. He only told me that its secrets were locked away … and that in the wrong hands, they could be an immeasurable threat to the Empire."

"Your former master had a flair for the dramatic," Lethe said dismissively. "It's time those secrets were mine."

On cue, a knock rapped at the door before the sliding panels parted to reveal a pair of Thresh' lieutenants. Behind them, a sealed crate rested at their feet. Even sheltered within a plasteel prison, Lethe could feel the holocrons' power emanating forth, a deluge kept at bay only through force of will. Even with all of Lethe's training, all the power she had already amassed … the pressure threatened to devour her whole.

This was the power she sought. This was the answer to all of her problems.

Beside her, she saw Sierra visibly stumble to keep from collapsing.

"A-a-apologies ... Darth Siphon. Agent Thresh asked us ... deliver this to ... you." The agents stuttered, movements jerky and unnatural, as though they fought an unseen entity just to get the words out.

"Leave," said Lethe. Thresh' agents were only too happy to oblige, scurrying away as fast as their hindered legs could take them.

"M-master … what is this? What's h-happening?"

"The price of power, apprentice. Miro never showed them to you?"

The girl shook her head; a trail of blood leaked from her nostril.

"It seems you're not ready for it. Go, return to your quarters and prepare yourself. Change is coming to this corner of the Empire, Sierra, and we are its heralds."

* * *

 _Use us._

Alone in her quarters, Lethe cleared a large open space for herself to work. She levitated the plasteel chest to her side, throwing open the lid and summoning six polyhedrons forth to encircle her. The Holocrons of Ancient Sorcery. They weren't cubes as Thresh stated, though Lethe hardly expected him to understand anything of these Sith relics: instead, they were four-sided pyramids decorated with ancient runes and inscriptions. The holocrons seemed remarkably small; she could hold them all in the palm of a single hand.

They whispered their shared desire.

 _Unlock us._

They spun in place around her, slow enough that Lethe could piece together the ancient inscription carved into their sides:

 _Ancient is our power,  
boundless, our ambition.  
All who would defy us,  
know only submission._

Before she stole Siphon's identity, before the Kaggath, Lethe - like many other Sith - had suspected the holocrons were but a myth. If they were real, then she assumed the secrets locked within to be paltry tricks, techniques lost to time due to their inability to compete with new developments in Sith magic. She hadn't understood why the real Siphon had so coveted these relics, why it was such a blow when Orthas seized them from under her master's nose.

Now, there was no question.

 _Command us._

What they lacked in size, they made up for in power. Up close and encircling her form, she could feel the raw, unbridled Force that emanated from within them. In the air, they whispered hints of their secrets, enlightened the briefest of reflections to the knowledge they contained. Even these momentary glimpses inspired awe.

 _Unbind us. Release us. Free us._

She saw a power that spanned centuries, a power to consume. A power to compel.

She saw countless faces that spoke with one voice. Her voice. Her will.

She saw towering spires pierce the heavens at her command.

She saw an empire reborn in her image.

 _Unleash us._

She couldn't breathe, and yet exhilaration tumbled through her veins as she felt true power in her grasp. Six holocrons, six pyramids. They whispered, waiting for the key. None had ever been able to unravel the cipher to commanding the Holocrons' power.

But an idea formed in her mind. How could none have seen this solution? How could Miro not have known? How could Orthas have failed to grasp its simplicity? It was almost like the holocrons themselves wanted Lethe - and only Lethe - to know, like the artifacts had unlocked themselves for her eager mind.

There was no time for these irrelevant questions. There was only one concern, only one purpose. Through the Force, she united the holocrons into a single, larger form, a pyramid of ancient knowledge united, unlocked, unleashed. The holocrons crackled with energy, discharging lightning and shockwaves as their edges sealed against each other.

Blinding light engulfed her chambers and power washed over her in waves, charging her blood, her sight, her mind. Indomitable power.

Overwhelming power.

Something wasn't right. This … this wasn't her power. Not entirely. Not yet. It had a mind of its own, a will that was as strong as any she had ever felt, perhaps stronger. Such _strength._ It threatened to devour her, to shut her out of her own mind.

 _Defy us._

She forcibly snapped herself from her trance and the now singular Holocron crashed to the floor; curiously, it made no sound as it did so, did not bounce or move a single inch further from the place it landed. Instead, it fell with purpose, as though it was meant to fall where it had and would not move, would not budge a single millimeter further. Lethe gasped against her will, staring at the object on the floor of her chambers with a mixture of fear and wonderment.

There was power here, of that there was no question. But could she control it? Could she command its knowledge?

Is this what Miro feared? Could the ramblings of the dead Sith have possessed merit after all?

The sound of an incoming communication rang out from her holocom. Lethe answered it, voice rasping as she realized her throat had become parched. "What is it?"

It was Cyriak. "My lord. I am terribly sorry to disturb you, but it seems Hadrax has demanded that the council convene. I suspect he does not want your presence at the meeting … which is why I take the liberty now of contacting you."

That swine. Hadrax dared to convene Lethe's own council without inviting her?

"Thank you Cyriak," she said, struggling to keep from raising her still-breathless voice. "I will be sure to see you at the assembly."

Cyriak's shimmering face smiled deviously. "Of course, Darth Siphon. Until then." The pureblood's cerulean form vanished, signaling the end of the call.

Lethe went to pick up the holocron from the floor; even as her fingertips neared it, she could feel power swell within her, could hear the voices whisper in her mind once more, voices that could only belong to those who created the holocrons. Millennia of ancient power. They demanded Lethe to release the holocron's true potential.

She had every intention to do just that.

Her hands finally grasped the now-singular holocron; it was as cold as ice, sapping the heat from her body. She winced, but bore through the pain, bringing her prize to the center of her quarters where she activated a hidden compartment that spun upwards from the floor to reach her waist. It was just the right size to house the holocron. Lethe had had this little secret installed soon after arriving at the Citadel. The compartment itself was made of enhanced cortosis, and its activation was locked behind a security code that only she possessed. Nothing would be able to penetrate this vault, at least not without an alert being sent to her.

She watched as her secret chamber sank once more back into the flooring of her quarters, hidden from prying eyes.

It was only a matter of time. The Holocron of Ancient Sorcery would bend to _her_ will, and she _would_ command all that it possessed. She had received but a taste of its power, and already she knew that it was the key to the realization of all her ambitions. With it, she would ascend beyond the power of a Darth, beyond the Dark Council even. She would be Empress … _a Queen to take the place of the old Emperor … a Dark Lady of the Sith_. She would tear down his empire for a new one. One free of the old prejudices and false ideologies that plagued everything he had touched.

And it would surmount all that came before.

Behind her mask, Lethe's smile spread so wide across her face that it hurt.


	8. Usurpers - Chapter 07

**Chapter 7**

* * *

"This is an _outrage!"_ Hadrax slammed both his hands down onto the circular council table, the lone counselor standing while Lethe, Astraad and Cyriak remained unmoved in their seats. Across from Lethe, a shimmering blue vision of General Ravain sat, also unimpressed by the pureblood's outburst.

Lethe didn't even bother looking up from her pronounced examination of the stitching on her leather gloves, a portrait of utter indifference. "What is, Hadrax? That you thought you could call this council without me?"

She watched Hadrax grit his teeth as his tongue loosed bald-faced lies. "The holocom must have malfunctioned, my lord. I was positive the invitation had been sent."

His voice held back an anger that he could barely contain - but his actions had incensed Lethe just as much. She was fast running out of patience for his audacity.

"Lord Rime was a pillar among our disciples," continued Hadrax. "His murder cannot go unpunished."

Cyriak snorted. "A crumbling pillar, perhaps. If Rime fell so easily to a slave of all things, perhaps your bountiful praise for the man was not deserved."

Astraad didn't say a word; his eyes squared on Lethe. She found that stare to be more aggravating by the day.

"That _woman_ was no mere slave," replied Hadrax. "My informants tell me she's actually an apprentice in training who failed her trials and abandoned the Academy. Rime did not fall to any servile thrall. She is sensitive to the Force, she is trained in the lightsaber forms!"

"Well, that makes his defeat look so much less humiliating, doesn't it, Hadrax?" asked Cyriak. "A lord losing a duel to an apprentice who couldn't even pass her trials. Woe is he, woe to the _fallen."_

Lethe couldn't help but empathize with the sneering delight Cyriak took from Rime's defeat.

Hadrax ignored Cyriak, refocusing his attention to Lethe. "All of that is beside the point. The slave killed one of her masters. She must be made an example."

"I quite agree," said Lethe. Cyriak turned to her in surprise. Hadrax looked like he needed a minute to collect his jaw from the ground.

"She should serve as an example," Lethe continued. " … an example to all of our followers that it is not status or class or purity of blood that determines who should excel under my rule. It is achievement. It is skill. It is power."

Hadrax's eyes bulged so wide, they looked as though they wanted to escape their sockets. His anger made the top of his head - bald as it was, save for the long braid at the back - look remarkably like a wrinkled egg. "You cannot be serious, my lord. You would reward this putrid human for her insubordination?"

"I reward those who can prove they've earned it," said Lethe. "Which is why I have decided to take Sierra as my personal apprentice. Spread the word. Any who challenge her, challenge _me."_

Hadrax's face somehow turned an even deeper shade of red.

Cyriak laughed, completely elated. "You can't deny she's earned her place, Hadrax. Putting down a Sith lord; that's something to which even apprentices that did pass their trails would be hard-pressed to lay claim."

The other pureblood didn't speak another word. Instead, he whirled around and stormed out of the council chamber, his robes and braid fluttering like angry banners in the wind.

For just a moment, Lethe allowed herself the pleasure of imagining his expression after she severed that ridiculous hair from Hadrax's head.

As her glee subsided and reality set back in, Lethe sighed inwardly; she had suspected Hadrax's reaction to Rime's defeat would be negative, but she also thought he would have been quick to disavow Rime the moment he learned that his nominee had lost a duel to a failed apprentice. She had underestimated his loyalty to a fellow disciple of Orthas … and that could prove dangerous if she intended to keep Hadrax's allegiance. Much as his behavior warranted discipline, now was not yet the time.

"The slavegirl does seem curiously powerful." Astraad spoke his first words that meeting as he watched Hadrax depart. "Rime was second to few in our organization."

"We merely held him in high esteem," scoffed Cyriak. "Too high, clearly."

Astraad did not seem convinced, but he contented himself with massaging the flesh joined to his cybernetic arm in silence.

Cyriak turned to face Lethe. "In any event, it seems clear that Rime was unfit to be called Lord, and certainly unworthy of a spot on this council. I believe that leaves only my candidates left to consider. Darth Siphon, you would do well to note that all of my nominations are true and pure Lords, who have not been so categorically emasculated."

Lethe had reviewed the list: three buffoons that no doubt would be more powerful if they would only pull their heads out of Cyriak's rear. She had no intention of naming any of them to her inner circle. There were many reasons, not the least of which was her intense desire not to have to deal with any more sycophants.

There was also the fact that siding with Cyriak now - so soon after Hadrax had been humiliated by Rime's defeat - could also prove a tipping point that turned the latter's resentment into open rebellion. The enmity between the two was apparent every time they sat down at the same table; elevating Cyriak while denigrating Hadrax was certain to bring trouble. However much Lethe despised Hadrax, she did not want to risk that. Not before she had a chance to properly absorb the Holocron of Ancient Sorcery's knowledge.

"All worthy Sith," Lethe said offhandedly. "I'm afraid I have yet to come to a final conclusion, however."

"Of course, my lord," said Cyriak. "Such a decision should not be made hastily. I will await your wisdom."

Lethe had bought herself some time, but Cyriak would not be patient forever. Still, soon it would not matter. When she mastered the holocron, all of this would be moot. She would compel obedience instead of request it. She would make them all _submit._

"I assume we are done with the outbursts then," said Astraad. "Since we've all gathered at Lord Hadrax's most prescient request, there actually is some news to report. Our spies in New Adasta have noted seditionist activity in the city near the Citadel's location."

"What sort of activity?" asked Ravain, speaking for the first time. The man looked about ten years older than when Lethe had last seen him, though it had only been a few weeks since then. No doubt he was struggling to control the unruly Sith disciples that still remained at Twinspire Keep.

Astraad scrolled through his datapad, reading off snippets of a report. The datapad crackled its displeasure every time his cyborg arm knocked into it with more force than intended. " … Sabotage of several old Imperial Intelligence networks. A few noted historians have disappeared under mysterious circumstances, likely kidnapped. An old Sith vault was ransacked, its contents looted."

"Ziost Liberation Front, no doubt," dismissed Cyriak. "Beneath our notice. Those fools are like fish struggling against a sailor's net. They may snap and thrash, but in the end they always arrive to the dinner table on a platter."

"Nevertheless, Lord Cyriak," said Ravain, grimacing. "Perhaps a doubling of the patrols are in order? I will make the necessary arrangements at Twinspire."

"Yes. Astraad will handle the Citadel," said Lethe; Astraad bowed his head in acknowledgment.

"If there's nothing else?"

A quick scan of the table confirmed that no further topics for discussion would be brought. Ravain's holo flickered and disappeared and both Cyriak and Astraad moved towards the exit.

As they reached it, however, Lethe clicked her tongue and spoke once more: "Lord Astraad. If you would stay a moment. There are some further matters for us to discuss."

Astraad stopped dead in his tracks. Cyriak glanced from Lethe to his fellow pureblood, eyes twinkling with an amused appraisal before exiting the council chambers. Offering a quiet sigh, the remaining pureblood turned back to Lethe and approached slowly, head hung low in what Lethe surmised was knowing contrition.

Had Thresh disobeyed her explicit orders?

"Darth Siphon. How can I assist?"

Lethe paced the council chambers, letting her advisor stew for a half minute before speaking. When she finally did, she found that her voice carried a new quality to it - a confidence that came from the certainty of superiority. For a second she wondered how she could ever have doubted her power over this small-minded man.

"Tell me. Have you heard the tale of Lord Vengre?"

"I'm afraid not."

"He was a Sith lord that lived hundreds of years ago, disciple to Darth Crade. Both powerful in their own right - Vengre growing more powerful by the day under his master's tutelage. But not so much that he could overthrow his master outright. Crade was no fool. He was careful in his teachings."

Astraad listened, wordlessly.

"Though his power seemed to reach a limit, Vengre's ambition did not know the meaning of the word. He coveted his master's title and his position, but lacked the raw ability to seize them for himself. Unable to unseat his master alone, he curried the favor of rival Sith lords to aid him in the attempt."

"I assume these Sith failed to defeat Crade?" asked Astraad quietly.

Lethe turned to face Astraad directly, the hollow holes of her mask focused onto the pureblood's own yellowed eyes. They were small eyes, small-sighted and limited by the ways of old. By the weaknesses of the Empire as a whole. They were to be pitied.

" … not exactly. They did defeat Crade. United, their powers toppled a Darth from his throne."

Astraad stood silent for a long moment as Lethe watched him, studying his expression and reaction. Finally, he spoke again. "Apologies, my lord. But what is the point of this story?"

"The point is simply this. Vengre and his allies may have slain Crade … but they did so at the cost of their own lives. Crade may have succumbed to his injuries in the end, may have been forced to abdicate his throne, but not before he exacted the ultimate price from his apprentice."

"And just like that," she continued, voice lowering to a thundering hiss. "The Empire was lessened. Weakened. It lost powerful Sith that day, for the pride of an overambitious disciple. Do you understand the purpose behind this story now, Astraad?"

"That rebellion and infighting only serve to weaken us as a whole."

Lethe nodded slowly. It was not the only lesson from the tale, but she trusted Astraad was clever enough to have deciphered it: the promise that even should he manage to topple her from her seat, she would eradicate him in the process.

"You are loyal to me, are you not?" asked Lethe.

"Of course, my lord." Astraad looked genuinely confused.

"And yet your actions tell me you have loyalties elsewhere."

The pureblood demurred. "My lord, I don't know what you mean."

"Tell me you did not know of the Holocrons of Ancient Sorcery then. Tell me why you would gift these artifacts that rightfully belong to me … tell me why you would offer them as tribute to the Dark Council without my knowledge."

Lethe watched as Astraad's eyes widened just ever so slightly.

"The holocrons of - you mean those relics that no one has ever been able to decrypt? I thought they were worthless, tokens of historical significance and no more. They seemed a suitable gift to -"

 _"Suitable gift?_ Do not lie to me Astraad! You instructed Thresh to keep the existence of the holocrons a secret from the rest of my powerbase, including me. And in my name no less!"

Astraad didn't miss a beat. "I did my lord, and perhaps I overstepped my bounds. But I know the rumors that swirl around these relics; what do you think led Orthas to Miro's doorstep?! For those worthless holocrons, Miro paid his life. And with Orthas' passing, I did not want there to be a beacon calling to all the Sith, inviting them to a weakened powerbase ripe for invasion."

Lethe's fury paused. There was sense in the pureblood's words, loathe as she was to admit it.

Could he be telling the truth?

Her mind raced with the possibilities, but it all came back to one question. Did he truly believe the holocrons' power was inaccessible? If he had intercepted and tampered with the separate holocrons, surely he would have sensed their power as she did. In that case, she could see no reason why he would forego their secrets and still follow through with delivering them to other hands not his own.

She turned away to collect her thoughts; Astraad seemed to notice her hesitation. "I included them in the tribute because no one has been able to unlock their power … and better they be with the Dark Council, in the hands of Darth Nox or Darth Rictus, who could perhaps decipher their secrets and leverage their power. Who would use them to advance our Empire, rather than as a siren song in our stronghold, calling to uninvited guests."

Once more, she whirled upon him, robes fluttering in the cool air of their council chamber. "Regardless of your intentions, you were wrong about one thing. The power of the holocrons is not barred to all. I have accessed it, scratched only the surface, and it shows me the future that belongs to L- that belongs to the Empire. To me, Darth Siphon."

Astraad looked stunned. "You … you unraveled the seal? How?"

"You sound skeptical, Astraad." The tone of his voice, the disbelief and incredulity that filled it - it was an insult to her. He didn't believe she could be the holocrons' master. He lacked respect; she would not let it stand. _"Allow me to convince you."_

The power came without her even thinking, rising like a tide in her heart, filling her veins, pulsing through her body. She almost didn't understand, couldn't comprehend where it was coming from; of course, it was the Holocron. She was its master and even the briefest glimpses of its power was enough to overwhelm a Sith Lord like Astraad. He was a leaf upon the wind, water in the current, a slave to its master. Helpless. Pathetic.

Her outstretched hand clutched at the air and Astraad's body fell instantly to a kneel, then to a full-bodied prostration, kowtowing in deference against his will, against his mind. His every breath came with a gasp, his eyes bulging, veins strained to the bursting point. His cybernetic arm reached out to her, the only part of him that stood defiant to her will - but it was not enough to save him. She saw him rally his mental defenses, summon the Force to ward off the invasion; she watched him fail, watched as his meager control slipped away from him.

She watched him learn once and for all who was the master of their house. Just like that, a single motion of her hands and Astraad - a powerful Sith in his own right - was brought low.

It was enough, Lethe thought to herself. A lesson taught. A lesson learned.

But something was wrong. It wouldn't end. A wave of nausea threatened to overpower her, and a chill jolted down her spine like frozen lightning. _She couldn't make it stop!_ It was as though something else had taken over, something insidious and powerful beyond measure. The world seemed to slow around her, drowned in a sea of transparent molasses. She watched as Astraad's head slammed slowly against the floor in his prostrations, its increasing fury evident only by the sickening thuds coupled with the impact of flesh meeting stone. Blood breathed air, spattering in all directions with each collision. Screams howled in silence from the pureblood's unmoving mouth, and yet rose to a deafening din within Lethe's mind.

"M-my lord?"

Frightened words spoken with Astraad's voice jolted her out of - whatever it was that had taken ahold of her. Her heartbeat came as quick and reckless as her breath, but the scene before her stood in stark contrast to what she had just witnessed. Astraad - prostrate at her feet but otherwise in perfect health - tried desperately to lift his head against the weight of the power Lethe had exerted against him. There was no blood. It was all a trick … all an illusion.

"Forgive me, my lord, I beg you," Astraad pleaded. "I was mistaken. I - I know now your power. I won't ever underestimate you again."

Lethe released her grip upon him through the Force, unable to suppress her surprise, eyes locked on the palms of her hands. She half-expected her power to resist, thought that perhaps in another moment Astraad would be dead at her feet, head bashed open. That surge of power, that burst of confidence followed by sudden uncertainty … and that chilling vision. Could they all have been the result of mere minutes spent with the Holocron of Ancient Sorcery?

Despite being released, Astraad still cowered at her feet, as though he feared she might unleash her power upon him once more. His pathetic form drew Lethe's attention back to the task at hand. Other sith lords might have slain Astraad then and there for his impertinence, but he was yet too valuable to Lethe to kill.

"Tell me your true loyalties," hissed Lethe. "Who do you serve on the Dark Council!"

"No one, my lord! I serve only you!"

Lethe backhanded the pureblood across his face. "You expect me to believe that?!"

The shock of the physical contact must have ended Astraad's panic, for when he spoke once more, it was filled with calm certainty. " … It is the truth."

 _"Liar!"_ Once more, Lethe reached into the Force, jamming her hand underneath the pureblood's throat, pushing him upwards against the wall, palm closing around his windpipe. Just like with Sierra, she would pierce the barriers that guarded Astraad's mind and find what veracity could be gleaned where it could not be obscured. Augmented by the Holocron, there was nothing that could bar her way, _nothing -_

She stopped dead in her tracks. If she leveraged that power once more, what would happen? Sudden and crippling doubt wracked her mind. Could she control the Holocron? Or would it send her spiraling into another maelstrom of false visions, of delusions and hallucinations? Could it do worse? What would happen if Astraad were to die; apart from losing a competent advisor, his death might even spark further rebellion against her. He had been integral in swaying Orthas' powerbase into capitulation; he still commanded their respect, their support. If she struck him down now, if he died as a result of her actions … would they still follow?

Astraad quaked, wheezing for breath, both his real and robotic hand clutching Lethe's adrenaline-powered arm in a desperate attempt to free himself, all the while protesting his innocence. "You must believe me, my lord! My master! I serve only you!"

She released her power, letting the pureblood's form slide down the wall. It was not yet Astraad's time. " … get out of my sight."

Astraad didn't need to be told twice, collecting himself and departing out the council chamber door with as much dignity as he could muster. Watching him scurry, Lethe came to a realization: he was a coward. An opportunist that saw elevation in overthrowing Orthas, but who lacked the ambition to realize his ambitions on his own. She had nothing to fear from him, not anymore.

For now, she would feign mercy, trusting the pureblood lord to spread word of her power. And if he didn't … she could repeat her display. When they learned how she could humiliate him, how she had so easily bound him to her will, what loyalty they held to him would evaporate.

Meanwhile, she would set a spy upon him, monitor all his activity, unmask his true loyalties the conventional way.

Though Lethe might need him for the moment, soon - very soon - the power of the Holocron of Ancient Sorcery would free her from the shackles of Sith politics. These treacherous games were the domain of the old order. She did not ascribe to its outmoded philosophy.

Whatever the price, she would pay. She had tasted true power now, and though it came bitter, it still proved stronger than anything else she had at her disposal. What were a few visions to her ambitions? What were a few hiccups to the Empire that was her destiny?

Even the real Siphon would have crumbled before her.


	9. Usurpers - Chapter 08

**Chapter 8**

* * *

Days passed without incident. Lethe had heard no rumblings from Hadrax's camp, nor saw any sign that Astraad resented their encounter after the last council meeting. It was almost as though the pair finally understood their rightful place within Lethe's power structure; she felt a growing sense of victory, of pride, swell within her. No longer did she fear losing control of her disciples. She could challenge them all at once and still emerge the victor.

It was all because of the Holocron. After that first session unlocking its secrets, Lethe's work with the relic expanded rapidly and with increasing ease. The Holocron wanted her to know its secrets, _needed_ to impart them to her. And with every passing day, she grew more and more connected to it, more and more certain that it was her right.

The memory of the hallucination she experienced while confronting Astraad still lingered at the forefront of her mind, but she hadn't experienced another Force-induced vision since that day. She was beginning to chalk up the sensory illusion as a fluke, a random convergence of the Force, unleashed as a result of her newfound power.

"What are you thinking, my lord?" asked Sierra. "You seem … distracted."

Three deactivated lightsabers hovered mid-air, spinning in place by Sierra's will. Though the girl sat cross-legged on the ground, the effort was clearly draining; Lethe could see a sheen of sweat on her apprentice's forehead, despite the fact that her apprentice's training took place atop the roof of the Citadel at midnight. The air was thin, but cool; Ziost's winds offered an overly brisk breeze.

The stars were obscured by cloud cover this night, but they could see the tops of the other skyscrapers around them; none stood as tall as the Citadel. Perhaps only the People's Tower could rival it, though a visual comparison would be hard to make, given the People's Tower rested deep underground in the Central District of the city.

Thirty stories below, New Adasta's air traffic had gradually grown more seedy as the night pressed on, with luxury vehicles and dilapidated speeders replacing those of the day's commuters in equal measure.

Lethe paced along the edge of the rooftop; a dirty railing served as her only protection against a fatal drop off the side of the building. "Concentrate, girl. The lightsaber behind you is wobbling."

"Yes, master," Sierra responded obediently, as she steadied the blade behind her using only the Force.

Lethe's gut told her Astraad served someone on the Dark Council. Her first instinct: Darth Nox. As the head of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge, the now singular Holocron of Ancient Sorcery would be precisely the sort of relic that would fascinate a keeper of knowledge, and Astraad doubtless could have curried a great deal of favor delivering it to the new Darth.

Then again, Nox was still a remarkably new face on the Dark Council, her personality and actions shrouded in wildly conflicting accounts and contradictory reports.

No, Lethe told herself. It would be unlikely that Nox would have gained the service of a Lord as entrenched in New Adasta's politics as Astraad was. As far as Lethe was aware, Nox had never even set foot on the planet.

A quiet buzzer sounded out, indicating Sierra had succeeded in her task. Six hours spent maintaining aloft three lightsabers was no small feat; it was a trial the real Siphon had set upon Lethe herself once. Sierra's eyes darted to her, hopeful, and just slightly desperate for relief. The master nodded, and the apprentice carefully guided all three blades to her side in unison, grabbing them from the air and slowly getting to her feet.

She looked weary, but accomplished. Lethe remembered that feeling, the first time she had managed to do the same. How proud she had been. How alive she had felt.

A small drizzle began to fall on their heads, like little pellets of melting ice; Sierra drew up the hood from her robes to shield herself. Lethe wanted to do the opposite. She wanted to remove her mask, to feel the touch of rain on her skin, on her face. It was a desire she never thought would seem so beyond her reach and a sobering reminder that however far she had come … she had done so under another's name.

"What do you know of Lord Astraad?" asked Lethe suddenly. As a slave in Orthas' service, the girl might have picked up details or behaviors that might explain the mystery behind the man. There was no harm in asking, at least.

Sierra arched a curious brow. "What kind of information are you looking for, Master?"

"Whatever you can tell me."

The girl considered for a moment before speaking. " … he was already a highly-respected advisor when Orthas acquired the Holocron. He has the respect of most of the Sith Lords that followed Orthas, though I heard he did once lose a duel to Lord Hadrax."

 _That was interesting._ "Do you believe Hadrax the stronger Sith?" asked Lethe.

"I'm not sure I'm the best judge, my lord … I wasn't witness to their battle myself, but I did hear the whole thing took less than a minute. Lord Hadrax is a dozen times more ferocious, if that says anything."

"Mm. A lack of ferocity often belies strength in combat," Lethe murmured. "Why did they duel?"

"Actually, it was a disagreement over the battle strategy to be employed against you. Lord Astraad favored a more cautious approach, but Lord Hadrax insisted on a direct and immediate confrontation."

Caution did seem to be Astraad's modus operandi. But that knowledge did little to shed light on his motives.

"What of his allies? His contacts outside the powerbase. What do you know of them?"

Sierra frowned. "I'm not sure. He doesn't exactly confide in me ..."

"What about his connections to the Dark Council?"

The apprentice shook her head, then cocked it to one side with curiosity. " … can I ask why you want to know about Lord Astraad, master?"

Lethe hesitated. Her apprentice was still young, still so naive. But trust wasn't the concern. She felt certain of Sierra's loyalty; Lethe had been instrumental in saving her from a deadly fate, after all. She just wasn't sure she wanted to involve the girl in something so cynical as Sith politics just yet. There was a time and place for that introduction, and it needed not be so s-

She caught herself. What was she thinking? This girl wasn't a sister to be coddled, wasn't a child that needed shelter. She had slain Rime. She had survived years as a slave and an apprentice in training. Besides, whatever Lethe might want to shield her from, there was no question that Sierra was already deeply involved in the politics of the powerbase. Lethe had put her in that situation when she named the girl as her apprentice, in defiance of Hadrax' desires, challenging Sith tradition. Sierra hadn't passed the trials; there would be consequences.

Better she prepare Sierra now, so that the girl would be ready for all the intrigue and treachery that came with politicking within the Empire.

Sierra sauntered over to her master's position, resting her elbows on the railing overlooking the fifty-story drop. "Please, master. You can tell me. I am ready."

A flash of light, and then a clap of thunder rumbled in the distance. Lethe glanced towards the stormclouds, their contours lit up for only a second as lightning illuminated their forms.

"Perhaps you are," she agreed finally. "Very well. Listen carefully and repeat this to no one."

Sierra nodded, stepping closer so that she could better hear her master over the din of the New Adastan nightlife below them.

"I suspect Lord Astraad to be a traitor to our cause. His loyalties do not lie with me … of that I am almost certain."

Sierra looked stunned at that revelation. "Master … he has been one of your most vocal supporters since you took over Orthas' domain."

"Indeed. But while he extends his aid in one hand, he hides his motives in the other. Everything he does is indecipherable."

"You don't think he actually wants you to rule?"

A bitter chuckle escaped her lips; the sound came out distorted through her mask. "No, I think he does. But I also think he seeks to manipulate, to pull strings in the darkness without my knowledge … to undermine me. Something is off about him, I know it in my heart."

"Have you confronted him about it, master?" asked Sierra.

"Yes. Unfortunately, to little result. He protests his innocence all the while."

"Why not reach into his mind, as you did me?"

Lethe had briefly considered summoning the pureblood back for another round of interrogation, but ultimately decided against it. "He is still an ardent supporter, as you said … and an influential one at that. It would be a risk to overly antagonize him while he continues to play such a critical role during this time of transition."

Sierra frowned thoughtfully. "You need him. For now."

"For now," Lethe agreed. It seemed the girl wasn't a complete fool after all.

The rolls of thunder boomed louder, as lightning shot across the sky with increasing frequency. The rain began to pour down on them in earnest now, torrents of icy water that smashed against their clothes, Sierra's skin, Lethe's mask. Like little bombs, exploding on contact, pelting them with unwavering resolve. "Come. Let's head back inside."

Shivering from the cold, Sierra's voice was quiet but resolute. "If there's anything I can do to help ..."

A smile formed behind Lethe's mask; the girl's offer proved a sufficient distraction from the prison around her face. Sierra was so eager to prove herself, so dedicated to her new mentor. Lethe had been like this once, had been so thankful to the real Siphon for saving both herself and her dearest friend that she would've done anything for that woman as well.

Before the last test, anyway. Before everything changed.

The difference between Lethe and Siphon: she didn't intend to betray her apprentice's faith in her, not like Siphon had betrayed Lethe.

"Keep your ears to the ground. Don't let Astraad know you are listening in on him, but keep your ears open for news that concerns him. I want to know his contacts outside the Citadel. I want to know who he communicates with. Answering those questions will be key to uncovering his true loyalties."

Her apprentice nodded, though it was clear her assent came with uncertainty. "What should I do if -"

Suddenly, Lethe felt another presence nearby in the Force; she lifted a finger to silence her apprentice. How could she have not noticed the presence before? They were alone atop the Citadel, that much could be discerned by sight. Her tongue tasted blood in the air, through even the west scent of musk and rain. That hint of iron in her mouth was a prophecy of impending danger. Her ears craned to hear what could not be seen, desperate to reveal its identity.

"Master, below you!"

She saw it now, almost too late. Someone was carving a circular hole beneath her with a lightsaber; the durasteel of the rooftop gave way to the blade like butter, leaving behind luminescent molten metal as the only sign of its collapse..

Sierra slammed her hands forward, forcing Lethe to stumble several steps backwards; for just a second, Lethe thought she was betrayed. A flash of fury threatened to overwhelm her at the thought that her own apprentice would stab her in the back so soon after being saved from a gruesome fate. It took her another moment to see the truth of the situation; the circular hole being carved out from under her launched upwards into the air like a bullet, only to clatter back down upon the floor half a meter away.

Her apprentice had saved her.

"Lightsaber!" Lethe shouted, activating her own blood-red blade in a single, practiced motion. Sierra did the same, their weapons sizzling as the rain made contact with the blades. _Good,_ Lethe thought. _The girl's still got her wits about her._

Three arcs of lightning rippled through the sky above them.

Lethe couldn't tell what Sierra was feeling, but if it was panic, the girl hid it well. She wouldn't have blamed her apprentice for a show of fear. She couldn't deny that she felt an inkling of trepidation herself - this was, after all, the first assassination attempt she had ever experienced from the perspective of a victim.

Thunder bellowed at them from all sides.

Even before the cacophony of electrical currents ended, a figure leaped upwards from within the Citadel, through the opening in the roof that had just been excised. It landed with deft grace upon the rooftop, crouched, ready to launch into attack. The form was sleek for a body wearing heavy armor, and it held in its hand a shimmering blue lightsaber - it too sizzled as the rain smacked into it. For a second, Lethe wondered if it was a Jedi that invaded her stronghold. But then, her eyes fell upon the helmet that protected its wearer's identity. Or it would have done so, had Lethe not immediately recognized it for its unique markings.

 _Vandal Pike. What the blazes was he doing here?_

Mercenary. Bounty Hunter. Professional. The man had proven himself a persistent thorn to the real Siphon all through the Kaggath. Lord Rend had tried and failed to defeat him, time and again. Lethe had suffered a humiliating blow at the hunter's hands. When she had seized her master's identity, she thought she would lose the opportunity to repay this malcontent's audacity, had expected to Pike to flee for his life. And yet now he strolled back into her sights, gall expanded ten-fold.

She owed him pain. She owed him denigration. But she would have answers first.

The bounty hunter gave her no chance to demand them. Impossibly fast, he darted toward Sierra's form; before Lethe could scream any warning, before Sierra could react, Pike jutted his hand out, palm open, smashing into her chest, sending her flying up and backwards over the railing. The strength! How was it possible? Too late, Lethe's hand stretched out to invoke the Force, too late, she felt the power surge forward, directed it to lance towards her apprentice, to latch onto her, any part of her, _too late!_

Already, Sierra's shriek was fading, growing quiet with distance.

Lethe had no chance to mourn her apprentice. Pike wasted no time; in seconds, he was at her side, the blue lightsaber arcing towards her neck in a backhanded upward swing. Lethe danced to the side, narrowly dodging the attack. She screamed her fury, a promise of retribution that she would not allow him to deny. He had killed Sierra! He had stolen her apprentice! She would not let that go unanswered.

Summoning the Force, she invoked the power of the Holocron; she would bore into his mind like a shovel, a drill, a gravedigger uprooting all his secrets. She would desecrate its contents, vacate what remained of his consciousness, leave him a dribbling and helpless mess, worse than a slave, worse than dead. She would _destroy him._

Her hands closed the Force around the bounty hunter's head. She could see it now, could see his form collapse, screaming, could see him clawing at his jaw, at his brow, desperate to block unseen fingers from kneading his thoughts into shapeless clay. Helpless to stop her. Prostrate before the power of her Ancient Sorcery.

Except … no. Lethe blinked and the world shimmered, shattered and reassembled itself before her very eyes. _Not another illusion._ Instead of Pike's toppled figure at her feet, the assassin stood proud, brandishing his weapon, taunting her with his defiance. How could he have resisted her power? It wasn't possible!

She threw her arms forward once more, summoning the Force, conjuring her own power, intent on rending Pike's sanity into a thousand irreparable pieces. That's when she sensed it, when comprehension finally dawned.

There was no mind for her to destroy here. No sentience for her to corrupt. No thoughts, no subconscious, no emotions.

No doubt. No fear.

 _How?!_

Pike charged forward, blade whistling, screaming its desire to pierce flesh. Her flesh. Lethe parried the blow and countered with a Niman flourish. The bounty hunter dropped low to dodge, then leaped into the air to bring his lightsaber down in an overhead slash meant to slice her open from shoulder to waist. She leaped to safety, but the man was persistent and quick - too quick for a humanoid. In a flash, he appeared at her side once more, blade thrusting forward to pierce her heart. Such alacrity; she barely managed to bring her lightsaber up in time to deflect.

She needed to put distance between them, to give herself time to rally the Force once more. If she could not shatter his mind, she would use telekinetics to tear him limb from limb. But she needed time, she needed space - she couldn't conjure the requisite power while struggling to parry lightsaber attacks. She had to find a way -

Pike refused to accommodate her, pressing his offensive, forcing them into close-quarter exchanges. Lethe blocked each of his attacks, every time with greater desperation. It didn't make any sense. The man's form was sloppy, inelegant, the attacks repetitive and predictable. She couldn't even discern a consistent saber form. The only reason Lethe had any difficulty defending was the sheer power and speed driving each swing, each thrust of Pike's lightsaber.

A furious grunt sounded out from over the edge of the rooftop, the sound of a woman pulling herself up through sheer physical strength. Could it be? Had Sierra survived?

The distraction was enough for Pike to seize advantage. With a sudden and violent backhand, he knocked Lethe's lightsaber out of her hands, sending it careening down fifty stories. Lethe gasped in shock, watched as Pike pulled his arm back to deliver the killing blow.

"NO!"

Behind Pike's form, Sierra - alive and clinging to the edge of the rooftop with one hand - shot out her free hand to catch Pike's saber-arm with the Force. His attack stopped in its tracks, Pike's head turned slowly, impossibly, a full hundred-eighty degrees back to examine the source of the interference.

Lethe snatched at opportunity. Her lightsaber gone, Lethe had only her hands to exact her retribution; they would be more than enough. Pike struggled to free his arm from Sierra's constricting Force grip, to no avail. Lethe lifted her own arms into the air and watched as Pike's body rose with her hands, watched as he realized his impending fate.

She didn't need the Holocron for this. This was her own power, her own superiority.

Lethe swung her hands outwards, slow, purposeful, as though conducting a macabre orchestra. Pike's body screeched sharply, unnaturally. No sound of pain, no cry of terror emanated from his helmet. Instead, his armored form tore itself in two without objection, showering Lethe with sparks and fuel and shrapnel. The two halves of his body flew in separate directions, one off the edge of the building, the other slamming so hard into the rooftop that it left a three foot dent. There was no blood, no broken bones, no mangled organs. In their place, a wreckage of cybernetics and robotics, united with a bare minimum of muscle tissue and organic residue.

It explained almost everything. How it was immune to Lethe's psychic assault. How it was incomprehensibly strong, fast, powerful. This was not Pike at all … but a cyborg impersonator, an unholy union of droid and man, a twisted abomination turned assassin.

Someone had dispatched this _thing_ after her. That much was clear.

But who?

She hadn't forgotten that accusation she had received via her holocom. _Impostor._ Now, an assassin bearing Vandal Pike's armaments had attempted to to take her life. Attempted … and failed. Adrenaline coursed through Lethe's veins. She felt a glorious, brimming sensation of defiant achievement. Her enemies thought she could be assassinated … how wrong they had been.

Sierra grunted. "Master, please … a little help?"

Snapping form her reverie, Lethe raced to her apprentice's side, pulling her up and back over the railing. "Well done, apprentice. You were spectacular. How did you survive?"

"Instinct. I used the Force to pull one of the banners hanging along the side of the wall to me, grabbed it just in time. Then, I just had to climb back up. Turns out scaling up the side of a building isn't the easiest thing to do, even with the Force …" The girl offered a half-guilty, half-relieved smile.

"You made it just in time. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't -"

At that moment, Astraad, Cyriak, and a contingent of the Citadel's security burst through the rooftop's stairwell entrance, their expressions panicked first, then bewildered as they caught sight of the broken wreckage of the impersonator's cybernetic corpse. A rumble of thunder corresponded to a last shower of sparks spraying from the broken assassin's form as the rain drenched them all from head to toe.

"Lovely," said Lethe, her tone a mocking excoriation. "We're saved."


	10. Usurpers - Chapter 09

**Chapter 9**

* * *

 _Five Years Prior, Twinspire Keep_

"S-sister?"

Retra sputtered and stumbled back, hands hovering around the beam of crimson light that jutted outwards from just beneath her breast. Her eyes darted to all corners of their quarters, as though desperately seeking comprehension, seeking to join understanding with reality. Her body collapsed to the ground; the blade fell with her. The impact deactivated the lightsaber, withdrawing its deadly energy into its hilt.

"It hurts." Retra still did not understand what had happened. "I don't … why does it hurt?"

Her eyes, her lips, her breath … they stopped in morose unison.

 _"Simply magnificent,"_ whispered her master, stepping out from the shadows.

She didn't know how to respond. She realized suddenly that she was on her knees, that her friend's corpse now stained their room by her doing. By her hand, Retra was dead.

"She wasn't going to betray me. She … she wanted to save me."

Her master leaned down to embrace her. "She was holding you back. She was the reason you could not excel. Now she is gone … but you still have me, apprentice. Your master. Your family. Do you understand?"

She nodded, though her master's words barely registered. Her master lied to her. Her master deceived her. What threat did Retra pose? Why did she need to die?

 _Why?_

"I will admit, I was not sure you would pass this test," her master continued. "But you did. You performed wondrously. Your faithful service to me has not gone unnoticed. Continue to serve me, learn from me, and we will take our rightful place as leaders of this great Empire."

Retra died for a trial? She betrayed her friend, struck down a fellow apprentice, slew a fellow Sith … for what? A test?

Her master thought she could control her. Thought she could manipulate her. Icy tendrils wrapped themselves around her heart as she steeled her will for what was to come. She would play the game, play the doting apprentice, play at fealty and allegiance.

"... yes, Master Siphon," she replied.

And then she would take her revenge. She would tear down this corrupt Sith way, and show to the Empire a new path.

Siphon stared down at her, that golden mask gleaming in the moonlight. How it embodied everything that she now hated. Everything she would see destroyed. It would be torn asunder, thrown aside, discarded. Just like her master. Just like Siphon.

And in her place, she would ascend.

"Rise then, rise an apprentice no longer. Rise as Lethe, Lord of the Sith."

* * *

 _3637 BBY - Siphon's Citadel, New Adasta_

Why did everything in the Citadel reek of decrepitude?

Lethe summoned the turbolift to her quarters with increasing insistence, but each time her fingers jammed the buttons, they only seemed to slow the lift down. It was as though they needed to process each individual summons, each individual directive, every single point of contact between flesh and technology. She needed to return to her quarters now; she had no patience for the Citadel's quirks.

She needed to ensure the Holocron of Ancient Sorcery remained safe.

It was an irrational fear; some part of Lethe knew that already. She had fortified its hiding place with defensive measures to ensure no one could steal it without her knowledge … and yet, paranoia wracked her mind. If they could penetrate the Citadel to attack her, what was to stop them from breaking through the Holocron's defenses and seizing it from her?

She needed to be sure.

And so, while Astraad and Cyriak escorted Sierra to the infirmary, Lethe moved to ensure her prized possession remained untouched. The purebloods had arrived too late to do much else than hem and haw at their failures. It was never more clear to Lethe that her stronghold's defenses were woefully inadequate. Someone had tried to kill her. Someone had actually tried to have her assassinated.

And why had they chosen to masquerade a cyborg as a figure from the Kaggath? Unless …

… it was all connected. That accusation leveled at her in secret. The revelation of the holocrons. Vandal Pike's reappearance. An invisible thread traveled through them, joining them, weaving a tapestry of conspiracy that was just beyond her sight. Who was at the source? Who was the spider spinning the web?

The potential culprits were countless. Hadrax had ample reason to resent her. She had underestimated his loyalty to Rime, and the latter's death had not proven to be the trump card she first imagined. She did not find it hard to conceive at all, that he would want to see her dethroned. But it was not his style to contract out killing. Hadrax would settle for nothing less than single combat, displayed for all the world to see. He would want the victory for himself, would want to feel his weapon in one hand and Lethe's life slipping away in the other.

Then there was Astraad, the pureblood whose motives remained a mystery. He had supported her up until now, but perhaps their last encounter had soured him on his loyalty. She had humiliated him, something she now looked back upon with regret. Astraad might indeed be a traitor, but if he wasn't, she had definitely given him reason to turn against her. She now wished she had stayed her hand, at least until she had concrete evidence of his treachery.

But would he turn against her now? After everything he had done to secure her place within the powerbase? Clearly, he was not the strongest of the Sith within Orthas' following, or he would have seized control for himself.

This wasn't what she had envisioned for her new Empire. This wasn't what she had seen from the Holocron. She needed loyal followers, faithful disciples to spread her message and enact her reforms. She wasn't supposed to stoop to the level of common Sith, to their infighting and petty squabbles. This was the problem with absorbing Orthas' old power structure into her own … so much of it was ideologically opposed to what she wanted to bring to the Empire.

Lethe consoled herself with the fact that she had little choice in the matter. If she had not subsumed Orthas' powerbase after the Kaggath, it doubtless would have turned against her - and that was a fight she had no doubt would have put her squarely on the losing side.

At least now, she still had a chance. As long as she still possessed the Holocron.

Finally, the turbolift arrived at her intended destination. She didn't waste a minute departing the agonizing prison, whirling into her chambers, robes fluttering behind her. She activated the secret chamber in the flooring of her quarters, suppressed the urge to tear it apart as it rose upwards with all the speed of a hutt trying to climb the steps to the People's Tower. An insistent tapping caught her attention; it took her a moment to realize it was her own foot demonstrating her impatience. Still, slow as the vault was in revealing its contents, Lethe could sense the ancient power within even before her secret repository completed its ascent.

Relief washed over her in waves. Its knowledge, its power … they were still hers.

Of course they were. The rest of the galaxy didn't know she had leveraged its power, had no clue that she was so close to its mastery. They thought that the Holocron was a lie … a deception … or they thought its power was lost to time, to battle and war, to history. Only she knew she the truth.

No … that wasn't quite right. Others knew … Astraad … Thresh. What if they told? What if they spread rumors of the Holocron to others, inviting them to challenge Lethe for its control?

They wouldn't do that. Astraad had not wanted the Holocron to be known. Thresh was too much of a fool to even ponder the significance of the artifact.

But … could she trust that to keep her safe? Could she trust them?

 _Trust us._

Lethe picked up the Holocron with one hand. Even through her glove, the relic felt like ice on her fingertips, sapping her body's heat for its own. It whispered its desire to her. It wanted her to unlock its full potential, to give in fully to its power. To taste it on her tongue, to fill her lungs with its essence. She had to throw up barriers to prevent it from forcing itself on her, flushing itself into her veins, pulsing into her heart.

Could she control it? Or would she be the one to be subsumed?

 _Believe us._

The voice was stronger now, more powerful, resonant and domineering. She heard it in her mind, beckoning for her obeisance. It ached with a millenia of knowledge and experience, desperate to be devoured and to devour all at once.

It was supposed to be the answer; it was how she had gotten this far.

 _Obey us._

She needed it. Enemies surrounded her from all sides, appeared with every step she took. She could trust so few … and whatever their consequences, the Holocron had yet to fail her.

Perhaps just a taste more … What could be the harm?

Lethe loosed a breath, releasing her grip on the mental barriers she had summoned just moments ago. She whispered the inscription on the Holocron, so quiet that even she herself could barely hear it. And yet in her mind and in her heart, the words resonated as if projected through an orchestra. A symphony.

" _Ancient is my power.  
Boundless, my ambition …"_

* * *

 _Medical Ward, Siphon's Citadel_

The Citadel's medical ward was still filled with casualties from the Kaggath. Rows of kolto tanks harbored both soldiers and sith who had been incapacitated in battle; the unmoving bodies helped the room project the impression of a very clean mortuary rather than an infirmary. The mood seemed somehow appropriate. Lethe promised herself that whoever had sent that cyborg assassin after her and Sierra would pay with their life.

With everything she had just gained, that was a promise she had no doubt about keeping. The power that surged through her … she could feel it reverberating through her very core, could feel her fingertips charged to the brim.

Nothing was out of reach now.

Leaning against a nearby pillar, Lethe watched Sierra wince as the Citadel's medical staff did their work. The cyborg Pike had left a hand-shaped bruise on the girl's abdomen, a maelstrom of blacks, blues and purples upon otherwise-fair skin. The prognosis was good; only a flesh wound, fortunately. Doctor Tivan, Director of the Citadel's medical ward, had been concerned about internal bleeding.

'Concerned' was probably overstating it. Lethe doubted the medical staff cared one way or another if their sith masters lived. Skilled doctors and physicians could be used by anyone - in an invasion, smart sith would be careful to leave talented medical professionals alive; assuming victory, their services and loyalties could then be reassessed.

"I think that about wraps this up," said Dr. Tivan. "Try not to strain yourself too hard in training, unless you want to come back and see me again real soon."

Sierra nodded, stretching gingerly to test the bandages that had been wrapped around her torso. Satisfied she was adequately mobile, she offered a small smile. "Thank you, Doctor."

Lethe approached the pair. "Yes, thank you. I must admit, I did not expect the Medical Director himself to do routine examinations like these."

Tivan smiled, baring pristine teeth and stretching out a neatly trimmed goatee. It was a kind expression, of which genuine ones were not often found in the Empire. Lethe had discovered long ago that they tended to come with strings attached.

"When the Citadel's master brings her personal apprentice in, I tend to take note," said Tivan. "I trust my staff, but I find that it can be difficult trusting anyone above myself."

Lethe smiled, forgetting again that her own face remained hidden by her mask. She extended a hand to the doctor, grasped his in her own before he could think to reject it. "I'll make sure Lord Cyriak sends you an appropriate reward for services well-rendered."

"G-gratitude, Darth Siphon. Although, I'm not sure I … what I mean to say is I only did my duty."

"And I want you to know that I appreciate it," said Lethe. "Not everyone thinks the faithful execution of duty is something that merits gratitude, but I believe differently."

Tivan looked a bit confused; doubtless he had never heard gratitude expressed from the lips of a Sith. Lethe intended to change that. It was time for her and her followers to stop taking the efforts of their servants for granted. Frankly, it was time for all Sith to do so.

 _And I have the power to realize that change now._

"You are most generous, my lord," said Tivan, offering a deep bow. "Thank you."

"Indeed. Now, I'd like to speak to my apprentice alone."

Tivan excused himself. Lethe caught a glance at the man's face as he departed; it seemed the good doctor could not wholly rid himself of that expression of bewilderment.

Satisfied they were alone, Lethe turned back to the girl. "I don't offer gratitude easily, but it is deserved here. Thank you, Sierra. Your efforts were critical in foiling that assassin's plan."

Sierra's face flushed with pride for just a second. "Who do you think was behind that attack?"

 _Who indeed._

"I have my suspicions, but no concrete proof. And I'd rather not speculate wildly without it."

"Do you think it was Astraad?" pressed Sierra.

Lethe paused before finally admitting, "It is a possibility … one I perhaps invited."

"Can I say something, master?" asked Sierra after a moment. When Lethe nodded her consent, she continued. "You don't seem like most other Sith."

"I'll assume you meant that as a compliment," said Lethe, a hint of humor in her modulated tone.

"O-of course," Sierra stammered. "I … I just mean you don't act like most of the Sith Lords I've met. Miro was probably the kindest, and even he -"

Lethe's tone rose sharply. "You think I'm _kind?"_

Sierra shook her head emphatically. "I'm not saying this right at all. I just mean I can see how you've ascended, how you've earned your throne. You inspire something different than most Sith. Loyalty. Faith."

Lethe eyed her apprentice; her mask doubtless did not convey her skepticism. Then again, Sierra had not been witness to her low points, her conflicts on the council. "Don't tell me you've decided to follow Cyriak's path."

"My lord?"

"Flattery can be a useful tool, but it won't get you into my good graces." She turned towards the full-wall mirror. The medical center rested square in the center floor of the Citadel; it was well into the morning now, and only the occasional speeder flashed by.

"I'm only describing what I see," pressed Sierra with just a hint of indignation. "Orthas ruled by fear. But you -"

"I am different, yes. I believe in a different way." Lethe paused, turning back to face her apprentice. " … a better way."

It was time.

"Better than the way of the Sith?" asked the girl.

Lethe chuckled. " … recite for me the Sith code, Sierra."

The girl frowned, but did as instructed. "Peace is a lie; there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, power. Through power, victory. Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me."

"A shorthand recitation, but no matter," mused Lethe. "The essence is still there. Tell me … where does the code demand that petty cruelty be our method? Where in the code does it state that prejudice is our mandate? That tradition is our master?"

"Nowhere … but I have heard it said that those are inextricable byproducts of Sith philosophy." Sierra's response was tentative, uncertain. As though she was still working out her thoughts on the fly. "The code values power ... one could argue that those Sith who have achieved true power have shaped all their descendants with their methods … and those methods have been a resounding vote for terror and domination. A vote for conflict, even between fellow Sith."

"Do you believe that? Do you think the Sith should be bound to that ideology?" asked Lethe. Her gaze locked onto her apprentice now, examining her every expression, her every subconscious reaction.

Sierra considered the question for a long moment. She seemed hesitant answer, biting her lower lip and fiddling with her empty hands. It took her a moment before she realized her physiological reactions and forcibly stopped herself.

"You can be honest with me, Sierra. Speak your heart … I would know if you are who I think you are."

Sierra nodded slowly, finally revealing her truth. "I think you're right, master. There has to be a better way than what we have seen from the Empire."

Lethe smiled, hidden, victorious.

"You asked me not long ago whether we were enemies. I gave you the answer that any of our brethren would speak as truth. Sith are destined to be enemies. Master and apprentice, ally and friend … within the Empire, these relationships always end the same way. Betrayal. Treachery. Death."

She paused for dramatic effect. " … they end in weakness. They end in a diminishing of the Empire."

Lethe watched her apprentice became enrapt, hanging onto her every word. "There is a better way. Nowhere in the code does it say that there can be no unity, that there can be no reason, that destroying one's allies - and by extension weakening ourselves as a whole - that this is a Sith's destiny."

"But … is not peace a lie?" asked Sierra.

"Who said anything about peace? I only advocate that we seek conflict where it is needed. Where it is deserved. Conflict with one's peers is easy. It's right in front of you, it can always be present. But to actually grow, to gain actual power … you must seek conflict that is worthy."

Sierra looked thoughtful. "With the Republic?"

"Or the Hutt Cartel. Or the Mandalorians. There are plenty of avenues to drive conflict, to spur self-improvement, to strive for strength. Our brothers and sisters of the Empire's need not be among them."

Sierra fell quiet again, but Lethe could not let her waffle. The apprentice had proven herself against Rime, against the cyborg assassin, against the Empire's ridiculous requirements for apprentices at the Academy. This was the last test, the final question to see whether Sierra would prove to be Lethe's faithful devotee, the one she needed to truly reform the Empire. The first of many. The one upon whom all of Lethe's ambitions rested.

"Well?" she pressed. "What do you think?"

"Some would say your ideas are … radical, my lord," said Sierra. Lethe watched her apprentice stare back at her, realizing that the girl too was probing, was trying to suss out whether she was being tested, whether these words were spoken in jest or deception.

"I care not what the rest of the Empire believes," said Lethe. "In this moment, it's your opinion that I wish to know."

"Then …"

The girl was so hesitant. Every word she spoke was pregnant with deliberation. _Why?!_ Had Lethe been wrong about her? Did she not see the reason and wisdom of Lethe's philosophy?

" … I think you're right, master. I believe your way is the way of the future. The way of a new Empire, an Empire reborn, an Empire restored. Strong. Powerful. Victorious."

Lethe wanted to burst out laughing, wanted to cackle with delight, to dance with celebratory glee. She had done it! She had found her first true disciple, her first true ally, a faithful herald of her new way. Together, they would see the Empire rejuvenated. With the Holocron of Ancient Sorcery and Sierra at her side, there was nothing that would be beyond her.

 _There was nothing that could stop her._

"Kneel, Sierra."

"Darth Siphon?"

"Kneel."

Sierra did as she was told.

"Weak. Powerless. Slave." Lethe spoke with her former master's imperious tone, bolstered by adrenaline, magnified by her mask. "You have stripped yourself of these titles, in favor of new ones. Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken. Slayer of Rime, defender against assassins. You have proven to me your dedication and loyalty … and for that, I name you Lord."

Stunned, Sierra's eyes widened, unblinking. "M-master?"

Lethe continued, unabated, undenied. "To the rest of the world, you are Sierra no longer. Rise as _Eris._ Rise as a Lord of the Sith!"


	11. Usurpers - Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

* * *

 _Two Days Later - Council Chamber, Siphon's Citadel_

Lethe's council was remarkably demure this day. Astraad looked somehow timid giving his report, while Cyriak made an unusual effort to keep his obsequiousness in check. Sierra sat at her side, quiet and doing her best not to attract attention. General Ravain seemed more confident, though it was hard to tell through the holocom. Lethe wondered if he was having better luck organizing the Sith that remained at Twinspire Keep.

Only Hadrax retained his sourpussed expression. "What is she doing here?" he asked, looking like he could not contain himself any longer, interrupting Astraad's report while pointing an accusatory finger at Sierra.

"She is here at my invitation, Hadrax," said Lethe. "I trust you have no objection."

"You made it clear last time that my objections would be soundly disregarded, _my lord."_

Lethe struggled to contain her desire to summon the Holocron's power then and there to quash Hadrax' audacious attitude.

"Ah … Darth Siphon," interjected Cyriak. "If apprentices are to be allowed in these Council meetings, I believe there are a few of mine who would appreciate the opportunity ... to … to learn from …"

Cyriak's voice trailed off as Lethe's masked face sent him a piercing glare.

An awkward silence permeated the chamber until Ravain coughed through the holocom. "My lord Astraad, perhaps you should continue."

Astraad defered to Lethe, who nodded her ascent. She had to admit, this new, meek Astraad was an amusing diversion from Hadrax's insolence.

"As I was saying, we will be stepping up security after the latest -"

"Don't bother," said an exasperated Lethe. "How many times have we stepped up security in the last few weeks? Pretty soon the kitchen staff will be on call for patrol duty."

"My lord, your safety -" started Cyriak.

That was a laugh. As if anyone present other than Sierra actually cared. Cyriak wasn't one to let an opportunity to fawn over his master go by, though, however disingenuous it was; Lethe had expected it. "Just find out who paid that assassin. We need to cut the head off a snake."

Astraad bowed his head. "Thresh is already scouring the shadow networks for clues. He has agents examining the cyborg's memory banks as well. We'll find the perpetrator."

"Have we determined how that thing managed to infiltrate my stronghold?"

"Thresh suspects it was smuggled in as part of a shipment of protocol droids. Once it breached security, anyone could have activated it remotely."

Anyone indeed. "I want names," said Lethe, deathly quiet. "Get them to me."

"Of course, my lord."

"Good. What's next?" asked Lethe.

"Darth Nox has sent word that she is dispatching her apprentice to Ziost, one Ashara Zavros. Her communication seems to suggest that Lady Zavros will be making contact with Minister Beniko of Sith Intelligence, and that she will also be paying visits to the most prominent Sith in New Adasta."

"I didn't know Minister Beniko had come here," said Ravain. "Any reason why the head of Sith Intelligence is on Ziost?"

"There were those rumors of activity by the Ziost Liberation Front," suggested Cyriak.

Hadrax snorted. "That's overkill, don't you think? The Ziost Liberation Front is a joke. Even impure filth like Lana Beniko would be completely wasted dealing with those fools."

"Darth Marr keeps his new intelligence organization quite under wraps - we hear only what they tell us," said Astraad.

"Back to Nox and her apprentice then," commanded Lethe. "I assume this Lady Zavros will be gracing the Citadel with her presence?"

"Yes," replied Astraad. "We were among the last stops she was making, but I negotiated a more prominent position on her schedule."

"Mm. Well done," conceded Lethe. The man still had his uses. "What do we know about this 'Lady Zavros?' Is she not a Sith? Why is she not styled a Lord?"

Cyriak grinned, revealing his impeccably clean teeth. "It seems Darth Nox's apprentice is a fallen jedi who has yet to truly embrace Sith teachings."

Hadrax spat, leaving a visible globule of saliva square on the face of the circular council table they all sat around. "Not Sith, not pure of blood, not even _human._ She is togruta scum. We need not curry her favor, we should turn her away at the gates!"

Lethe felt an urge to smack Hadrax in the face. "Not this again. The old order of things is done, Hadrax, your antiquated prejudice has no place in my powerbase! Accept reality!"

The pureblood lept to his feet, hand racing to his lightsaber, face twisted into a snarl. Lethe watched it happen in slow motion; she could read every single one of his movements. Did Hadrax actually think he could challenge her? How Lethe wanted him to do it, how it would be welcome to her now. The Holocron of Ancient Sorcery had freed from her constraints. She desired to put him in his place here, in front of all of his peers, to prove to her powerbase and to all the galaxy that she needed no one's aid to put her house in order.

But no … Lethe could afford to wait just a bit longer. What Lethe intended to reveal at this council, she was sure would provoke Hadrax beyond the limit. But it was not yet time, not yet needed for her to reveal the true extent of her power magnified by the Holocron. Her apprentice would be enough to pacify the pureblood for now.

The rest of her councillors had fallen silent and still again. Pathetic, all of them. Only Sierra had mimicked Hadrax's call to action - she was a step faster, a heartbeat quicker. Before the pureblood could leap across the council table to attack, Sierra - no, _Lord Eris_ \- had already placed the edge of her activated lightsaber at his throat.

The rest of the room looked stunned, but Lethe beamed with pride. Under her tutelage, Eris had grown so much in the last few weeks, her power undeniable. This, from a girl who had failed her trials and abandoned the Academy. Hadrax could not quite believe what had happened, his eyes widening in speechless shock. Lethe almost couldn't believe it herself; she wouldn't have believed such progress could be possible, if she had not personally provided guidance gleaned from the Holocron …

Regardless of the origins of her power, Eris was the perfect proof that the old ways that Hadrax clung to had lost all relevance, that the old teachings and traditions were but relics, obsolete and without merit.

"You're going to sit down now," said the girl to Hadrax. "And be thankful that our master still affords you the opportunity."

The pureblood grit his teeth and did as commanded, releasing his hold on his still-deactivated lightsaber. Reluctantly, he sat back down, but not before sending Cyriak a piercing glare. The burn-scarred pureblood had been unable to hold back an inordinately amused giggle.

Feigning a cough to hide his delight, Cyriak feigned innocence. "Apologies … something stuck in my throat."

Sierra returned to her seat as well. Satisfied that Hadrax had been suitably admonished, Lethe returned her attention to Astraad. "I trust you will make the appropriate arrangements for our guest's arrival?"

"Of course, my lord." He bowed his head low, careful not to meet her eyes.

"Good. Then it's on to the final business of this council and the true purpose to why I summoned you all here today."

Her four advisors looked upon her with expectant curiosity.

"I have come to a decision about who should fill the last vacant seat on this council," said Lethe. "I make this determination, not lightly, but after much deliberation."

Hadrax scoffed, disgusted. It was no wonder, considering his only nomination had been thoroughly disgraced and then slain. Astraad and Ravain seemed nonplussed. They never had stakes in this game to begin with. Only Cyriak's nominees remained. The sycophant's smile expanded across his whole face like a slug at a feast; Lethe wondered briefly if she could stuff a banana sideways into his mouth like that.

"Which of my discip -" the pureblood caught himself before he could further misstep. "Apologies, I of course meant to say which of _your_ faithful followers have you selected to join our ranks, Darth Siphon?"

Lethe smiled from behind her master's mask. Everything was about to change.

"Lord Eris. Rise."

The whole room looked confused - except for one. Cyriak asked, disbelieving, "Eris? That was not one of my nominees. I don't even think there is a Lord Eris within our -"

Cyriak's words withered on his tongue as Lethe's apprentice stood once more, proud, regal ... a true lord of the Sith.

The room exploded in a flurry of activity. Cyriak's jaw dropped clear to the floor. Astraad looked utterly amused, stroking his chin with his cybernetic arm as he pondered the decision. Hadrax leaped to his feet again, slamming both his hands onto the council table so hard that Ravain's holocom disconnected. "You have to be joking! You would name a slave to this council?!"

"A slave, is she?" spat Lethe. "You were so insistent that she was anything but a slave in our last discussion."

Cyriak followed up immediately; Lethe could almost see his mind spin in an attempt to salvage what he could from his lost political play. "While Hadrax's insolence is indeed unworthy, I must agree with his sentiment. As your advisors, we are meant to be your eyes and ears; we are meant to provide you with the most reasoned, most experienced counsel. What can such a young woman offer in that regard? You only accepted her as your apprentice a few days ago!"

"She offers what none of you or your nominations could," countered Lethe. "A fresh mind, one unburdened by orthodoxy and unsullied by Orthas' brainwashing. I expect her perspective to be quite refreshing."

"Lord Ixass is only a few years older than she," Cyriak insisted. "He was on my list; he would be the wiser choice, one that -"

Seeing Cyriak's distress, however, Hadrax seemed to have a change of heart. "One whose nose stinks of your bowels. Ixis has all the wisdom of an empty book and all the efficacy of a dry mop."

Astraad snorted, as did Lethe. She suspected her calculus had paid off; by naming Eris to her council, she had hit two birds with one stone. Cyriak's bootlickers would be kept as far away from her as possible and Hadrax would be mollified; the latter seemed more than delighted that Cyriak's nominations had all been rejected. There was something to be said about competition between Sith - a rival's misery could often prove just as sweet as one's own victory.

The holocom flashed a small light, indicating Ravain was attempting to reconnect, but none made any move to answer. Cyriak looked like someone had thrown a glass of Corellian Red in his face. For once his servile smile had vanished, hidden beneath a vicious snarl directed at Hadrax. "You insolent little -"

Lethe held a hand up to silence them both. "The decision has been made. Lord Eris will join us on this council."

"My lord, I must protest!" exclaimed Cyriak. Lethe turned to the once-fawning councilor one more time, genuinely surprised. She had expected him to resist, but she had not thought he would take it this far. Where was the sycophantic and overly-accommodating demeanor that had so grated on Lethe's nerves for the last dozen meetings?

"Even assuming the young Sierra has valuable insight to offer," insisted Cyriak. "... she cannot be made Lord. And therefore she is ineligible to be named to this council!"

"You are treading dangerous ground, Cyriak," said Lethe, her tone filled with a quiet but building fury. "Perhaps you wish to rethink dictating to me what I can or cannot do."

"Darth Siphon, this girl is a failed apprentice! The whole Citadel knows her past; she abandoned her trials at the Academy! That alone disqualifies her!"

"Cyriak has a point," said Astraad. "My lord, if you raise the girl up to the rank of Lord now, imagine what that says to the rest of the apprentices in the powerbase? That their accomplishments back on Korriban were for nothing? Imagine what the rest of the Sith across the galaxy will say? This is a double standard that could sow chaos in the powerbase and beyond."

The poor fools. So trapped by their outdated thinking, they couldn't see beyond their vaunted traditions. Lethe almost pitied them. Almost.

They would all understand in time. She would make them.

"The matter is closed, I will hear no more squabbling about it. If any of you have further objections to this appointment, _you can make them with your lightsaber._ And be assured … I will enlighten you your folly."

She wanted to laugh, to display her glorious victory through unbridled mirth for all the galaxy to see. Finally, she could make this declaration. Finally, that challenge that Astraad had dared her to make all those weeks ago, she could make now in front of all who could threaten her reign. Finally, she no longer feared being exposed for her true self. Lethe was a Darth in all things, all but name … and she had Siphon's name for that. None of her upstart disciples would dare challenge her and if they did, she would crush them beneath her heel.

Hadrax offered a contemptuous sigh. "So shall it be. Orthas' legacy suffers another stain. This Citadel sinks another rung on the Sith hierarchy and our ranks swell with impurity and -"

Lethe had enough of Hadrax's pontificating. She would not suffer this impudence any longer. She raised her arm and closed her fingers into a fist, grasping through the Force, channeling the Holocron of Ancient Sorcery. Crushing, choking. Hadrax's words died mid-sentence, severed by Lethe's power. He clawed at his neck, wheezing, desperate for release, his braided hair flailing as his body parted from the floor, lifted up by the strength of Lethe's will alone.

It was so _easy._ The Holocron granted her power unlimited. What had she been afraid of? Why had she spent so much time accommodating this man's ego? Any of their egos, their vanity? What was their pride before her power? What were their lives before her ambition?

Hadrax's lips moved in anguished attempt to profess apology, but only the sound of air escaping his lungs could be heard.

She couldn't hold herself back now, couldn't stop herself even had she wanted to. Mocking laughter poured from her mouth, a tidal wave of delirious jubilation. A voice whispered in her mind, persistent, but muted, pleading for her not to lose sight of her better way.

… but what was her way before her glory?

 _Know only submission._

Hadrax's eyes bulged in terror, as the man finally realized what was about to happen. Lethe watched as pain sparked understanding in those narrow-sighted eyes. These moments were to be his last. She would erase this thorn from her side permanently.

"Master, you're going to kill him!"

An insect buzzed in her ear. How annoying.

"Master, _stop!"_

Someone was tugging at her arm, was trying to interfere, dared to insert herself into matters that did not concern her! What did this fool girl think she was doing?! She would pay. They would all pay!

A piercing scream fled her lips, sending four figures flying backwards, slamming them into the walls of the council chamber. They convulsed in place, held in mid-air by the infinite well of Lethe's newfound power. They screamed, in agony, in terror. Astraad's cybernetic arm shattered into a thousand pieces, burying shrapnel in his sides; blood poured in ribbons, compelled not to the floor by gravity, but by the maelstrom Lethe had summoned. Cyriak shrieked until there was no breath left. Hadrax's body slumped over, unmoving, dead. Retra's body spasmed like a thousand jolts of electricity poured into her skull, her eyes covered in white, her hair singed off, her -

… no!

 _What have I done?!_

"Master, stop! You're going to kill him! Remember, remember what you told me!"

Finally, she recognized the voice. Sierra. Eris. She didn't understand … nothing made sense. Her vision splintered into countless fragments, and then restored itself: the sight before her, completely different than the hallucination she had just witnessed. Astraad, Cyriak, Sierra … they were all fine. Even Hadrax still breathed, hovering in the air, clinging to life by a thread.

Lethe fell back, unable to hide her surprise, unable to hide her shock. She recoiled, withdrawing her power, feeling the Holocron resist, taunt, defy. The vision of a long-dead friend haunted her, tormented her mind and her heart.

Not again. Why did this keep happening?!

Hadrax sank to the ground, defeated. His breath returned to him slowly but surely; he would survive.

"Master, are you alright?" asked Sierra.

" … get out. Get out, all of you!"

"Darth Siphon," said Astraad. "You're not well, you need -"

 _"GET OUT! LEAVE. DO YOU FOOLS NOT UNDERSTAND? I WANT ALL OF YOU OUT!"_

Sierra fell back,frightened. Astraad didn't offer any more objections; he helped Hadrax to his feet, and then threw the weakened pureblood's arm over his shoulder, supporting his fellow pureblood as they limped out of the council chamber. Cyriak followed closely, visibly shaken by what he had seen.

"Master, talk to me, please, I … I want to help!"

"I'm fine, Sierra. Go."

The girl knew better than to try defiance again. She headed towards the exit, pausing only briefly to look upon her master before departing as well. _What was that look that she saw?_ Was it pity? What gave her the idea that she could be pitied? That she could feel sorry for her? She was the apprentice, not her!

Who did she think she was?

By the time the sound of Sierra's footsteps disappeared, Lethe no longer knew who she was thinking about, who she was so angry at: Sierra … or herself.


	12. Interlude 02

**Interlude**

* * *

 _3637 BBY - Lord Beral's Estate, Kaas City_

Beral sat in her Kaas City office, legs-crossed as she gazed at Lord Pallas' shimmering form through a holocom. She selected a golden-yellow pastry from a nearby platter and held it up clearly so that it would be seen on the holocall in progress. She suspected that the cerulean holo technology would not be able to adequately convey just what she was holding in her hand, however; so, she spoke, taking deliberate care to choose her words for maximum effect.

"It's such a shame you aren't here, Pallas. My chef prepared the most exquisite madeleines for dessert today. Just the right amount of sugar without becoming overly saccharine, and lighter than air. Pure perfection, simply."

She paused, glancing to the holographic representation of her ally. "Do you enjoy pastries, my friend?"

Of course, she already knew he did. Otherwise, she would not have requested a platter of madeleines to be prepared for her holocall. The man was renowned for enjoying baked goods, madeleines in particular. Beral even heard once that Pallas had a slave executed for stealing them, imparting a most literal interpretation of the phrase: 'a dessert to die for.'

"I … yes, Lord Beral. In fact I do."

She made sure to twirl the pastry in her fingers before taking a slow and satisfying bite into the dessert; the madeleine all but melted upon her tongue as she slowed her mouth to an agonizing snail's crawl for dramatic effect.

She could almost see Pallas drool from the corners of his mouth, even through the holocom.

"You simply must come visit me again," said Beral, her voice cooing into the holocom. "I'll have Entony prepare a feast of madeleines for you."

It was an empty offer, one that Pallas no doubt could see through. She knew he would only nod and demur though. Pallas would not dare to contradict anything she had to say. Like clockwork, the miniature holographic representation of the sith lord bowed low, its slight hesitation the only indication that the act was anything but authentic.

"So, tell me," Beral asked. "How are things in New Adasta?"

"Lively, as usual my lord. There are reports of seditionist activity almost weekly now, though Sith Intelligence has yet to locate any concrete leads to pacify them."

"Seditionists? How quaint," said Beral, not bothering to hide her apathy. "Has the Ziost Liberation Front finally found its courage?"

Pallas pursed his lips in doubt. "Possibly, though these latest attacks have had a surgical quality that is usually lacking in the ZLF's operations. The perpetrators have been targeting old Imperial Intelligence data-centers and various vau-"

Beral yawned. "Oh? Well, I'm sure Minister Beniko will have things well in hand soon enough. What of our fellow Sith? Has there been any more news of interest amongst the Ziost factions?"

"Lord Lector has finally solidified his hold over Darth Cerber's old power structure. They say Marr will be supporting his elevation to Darth soon. And as for Siphon …"

Beral couldn't help leaning in closer to the holocom. This is what she actually wanted to hear about.

" … rumor has it she's elevated her personal apprentice to the rank of Lord. Lord Eris, as she's now known, was then named to Siphon's personal council."

"Is that even worth a rumor?" asked Beral. "How many Lords are elevated everyday? Aren't we're being named, killed and replaced all the time?"

"As you say, of course, Lord Beral, but it seems this Eris was a slave that failed and abandoned the trials on Korriban."

Beral drummed her fingers together, licking her lips of the few stray crumbs that had escaped her tongue. "Well now … isn't that interesting?"

"That's not all, my lord." Beral thought she detected a note of contempt in Pallas' tone. "My sources also tell me that Siphon's already been the target of an assassination attempt, one that Eris played a critical role in foiling."

"How curious indeed," mused Beral. "This assassin must not have been particularly adept at his profession to be stopped by a failed apprentice."

"On the contrary, my lord. I understand Lord Eris is surprisingly powerful. She slew Lord Rime in single combat; you remember him?"

"I remember his stench. Campaigning with him on Taris nearly slew my sense of smell."

Pallas couldn't quite hide an amused snort. "Yes, well … Rime numbered among Siphon's strongest apprentices, one of Orthas' training and legacy. I would not have bet against him, even against some Darths."

"Curiouser indeed. That gives me some ideas."

"Lord Beral?"

"Have your spies do a thorough check on this Eris' background. I want to know everything about her."

Pallas bowed his head. "Of course, Lord."

"As for Siphon … I'll have further instructions for you shortly."

"Yes, my lord. I await your command."

Beral popped the last of the madeleines into her mouth, careful to ensure her slow chewing conveyed an adequate sense of pure, unadulterated delight. She watched Pallas turn away to quickly wipe a sliver of droop from the corners of his mouth; toying with Pallas was almost too easy. A bit of theater was all that was needed to produce results.

Beral prided herself on her acting ability. In reality, she despised madeleines; she found them simultaneously tasteless and insubstantial. She much preferred her meats. Steaks, ribs, chops. Protein. Hearty meals, fit for hearty appetites.

Still, the look of envious need in Pallas' eyes was worth swallowing every bite of the bland, dull pastry.

"Thank you Pallas. That will be all."


	13. Usurpers - Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

* * *

 _One Week Later, People's Tower, New Adasta_

They acted as if nothing had happened.

No, that wasn't quite right. Astraad, Cyriak, Hadrax … they acted as if nothing had happened, because they were afraid.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. This wasn't how Lethe wanted to rule. Intimidation, terror, and violence between Sith was a relic of the old age, one that was supposed to be buried by her enlightened philosophy. She was supposed to rule with respect, was supposed to see an Empire returned to glory, built on a foundation of unity and allegiance. Instead, she had sunk to the very depths of cruelty and irrationality that was at the root of the Empire's corruption.

Everything she stood for, everything she believed … how could she have thrown that away?

The answer was all too clear.

If Lord Eris was to be believed - and Lethe trusted her now more than anyone - none of her councillors had uttered a word of what had happened between them. Lethe was quietly grateful. So much of what happened was still a blur in her mind, passing itself off as a dream; she was still not sure she had woken. She did not want the rest of the Citadel to know her weakness … and there was no question. This was a vulnerability.

The power of the Holocron of Ancient Sorcery came with a terrible price. She was starting lose her grip on her sanity. There were times she could no longer distinguish vision from delusion, hallucination from reality. At times she was not sure if she was even the one invoking its power. Yes, the Holocron had helped her secure her position as leader of the powerbase … but could she afford to use it again?

Is this what Eris' former masters had so feared? Is this why they would not leverage the relic, even in the face of annihilation?

It was a question she did not want to think about. Not now. Not with enemies all around her.

"My lord. We've arrived at the People's Tower," said Agent Thresh.

Located in the Central District of New Adasta, the People's Tower stood sheltered from wind and rain by the massive underground cavern system that protected the rest of the district. Stylized after the Imperial Citadel on Dromund Kaas, the massive structure itself loomed over all other buildings as speeder traffic flew by. Ambitious spires stretched near the top of the cavern while squares of crimson light dotted the side of the building, each signaling the presence of a window and an occupied room.

The Sith did so love their reds.

Chauffeuring her around New Adasta was not typically a task suited for a stronghold's security and intelligence director, but Lethe had requested Thresh accompany them specifically so they could speak away from prying eyes. Whatever was happening with the Holocron, the game was still afoot. She could not afford to lose sight of her ultimate goals, to lose track of everything she had juggling in the air.

Eris exited the speeder with preternatural grace. Lethe followed, glancing upwards once to the apex of the People's Tower. Perhaps it was the lack of a sky to provide a reference point, but the building seemed even more massive up close and personal.

"Get out of the car" said Lethe to Thresh.

Thresh knew better than to object. His aged limbs were not so nimble as they must have been in his youth, but he managed to climb out of the speeder with his dignity. Once out, he bowed his head low. Lethe wondered if he did that so he could hide the displeasure on his face.

"If you would, Lord Eris."

The young sith lord carefully patted the man down, checking for listening devices and hidden comlinks. Satisfied the man was clean of bugs, Eris stepped back.

"My lord, you must believe me," said Thresh wearily. "I am loyal to you and you alone."

"Everyone seems to think they can tell me what I must or must not do. _I_ must admit, it is growing tiresome. Spare me the protests and just give me your report."

Even that came out different than she had intended. Her intention had been to mollify, to appease, to rebuild trust. Thresh had done nothing but what his superiors had ordered him to do. Yet, she treated him like he had left his vibroknife in her back. It was like an instinct, a base desire to cut at an opponent, to rip dignity away with her words. A gut reaction that she could neither quell nor prevent.

"It is as Lord Astraad reported himself. Over the last week, he has met with Lord Lector to discuss the possibility of an alliance between our powerbases. He entertained a representative of Darth Acina, the latest addition to the Dark -"

"I know who Acina is," said Lethe. Could it be Acina who commanded his loyalties? "Continue."

"Of course. It appeared the conversation with Acina's representative did not go well. Lightsabers were drawn. Blades were crossed, blows exchanged."

It didn't make sense for Astraad to fight Acina's representative if he were in service to her as well … but perhaps it was an elaborate ruse, a play to throw Lethe off track. She wouldn't put it past him, that weasel. "So it came to violence? Why?"

"From all accounts, it seemed Astraad was there to negotiate Acina's sponsorship of the powerbase, but her representative demanded more concessions and tributes than was his right. Astraad took offense … and swift action."

"Darth Acina didn't take offense herself?" asked Eris.

"It seemed she was not aware of her agent's side-deals in similar matters. She seemed more displeased with her own servant's performance than Lord Astraad's actions."

"And you know this how?" asked Lethe, skeptically.

"The representative is now dead. Executed by his master," responded Thresh.

"Mm. Continue."

"Astraad has spent the last few days preparing for Lady Zavros' arrival. He's made no contact with anyone off world or outside Darth Nox's circle since the day before yesterday."

Lethe glanced to her apprentice. Eris nodded her agreement. "What I've learned corroborates Agent Thresh's report, master. I believe he is telling the truth."

Sighing inwardly, Lethe could only nod. Another report that answered so few questions.

"Good work, both of you," she forced herself to say. "Thresh, wait for us while we conclude our business here."

"As you say, my lord," came the obedient reply.

Master and apprentice ascended the steps up to the People's Tower, bypassing an igneous rock garden occupied by several Imperial nobles. They chattered with an air of obnoxious superiority as their slaves waited on them dejectedly. One of the twi'lek slaves glanced at her, but quickly looked away, afraid to make eye contact with the twin voids that substituted for eyes on her mask. That surprised her for a second. It seemed not so long ago that she herself was in the same position as that pathetic creature, sworn to a life of service without hope for anything better.

She glanced at Eris. The girl looked sad, having caught one of the slave's eyes as well - the poor thing must have been new to the position. No experienced slave would have dared to maintain eye contact with a Sith.

Lethe wondered if Eris felt the same as she did, looking at someone whose life seemed half a mirror of their own, but cut off from any promise, any ambition.

Eris forced herself to turn away, quickening her pace to keep up with Lethe. "Who are we meeting here again, master?" she asked.

Lethe could tell it was a question asked more to distract than one made from a lack of knowledge. "Lord Pallas, a Lord in service to Darth Vowrawn."

"I thought Darth Vowrawn was on the run."

"He is," said Lethe. "Rumor has it he ran afoul of the Hands of the Emperor, trying to uncover their secrets. I believe his last known sighting was the Rishi Maze."

"But if he's on the run, why does Lord Pallas want to meet?" asked Eris.

"That's what we're here to figure out."

It was a good question. Why did Lord Pallas want to meet her? To propose an alliance? An offer of sponsorship? Could Vowrawn be working in absentia, seeking to bolster his position in hiding?

They reached the top of the steps. Twin fountains each spurted three jets of pristine water straight upwards. It was a rather serene scene, perhaps one of the few places in all of Ziost that could lay claim to such a description. Pallas waited for them at the far side of the fountains. He looked weary, though the greying hair and receding hairline did little to ameliorate that impression. The man offered an inauthentic embrace and half-hearted smile as Lethe approached.

"Darth Siphon. How lovely to see you again."

 _Tch._ Lethe had forgotten Pallas was on friendly terms with the real Siphon. She would have to take care not to give away her true identity.

"Yes, lovely," she managed. "Might I introduce you to Lord Eris, my personal apprentice."

"A pleasure, a pleasure. So, this is the Sith that has New Adasta alight with all of its recent … excitement."

Pallas' eyes betrayed his skepticism.

"Lord Pallas." Eris bowed her head in deference to the aging Lord.

"Shall we get to it?" asked Lethe, tapping her foot with a hint of impatience.

"Of course, Darth. Please, follow me to my office. There is much to discuss, and I'd rather not have Ziost's nobility hearing things out of context." He sent an annoyed glance to the nobles gathered just down the steps. Lethe couldn't help but follow suit.

Pallas led them into the People's Tower, stepping quickly towards the turbolifts. They barely had to wait two seconds before a free lift arrived, its doors opening smoothly and with all the ease of fresh and new technology. Clearly, the People's Tower had undergone renovations; Lethe wondered if she could afford to outfit the Citadel with similar upgrades.

They stopped on the twentieth floor, with Pallas beckoning them through a series of convoluted hallways. Lethe caught Eris peering at the offices and their interiors; most had glass walls that did little to protect privacy. Some were empty, but many more were occupied by a wide assortment of Imperial personnel, mostly military. Pallas wasn't the only Sith Lord either; they came across at least six before their guide finally reached their intended destination.

Pallas' office was as unremarkable as the man himself; Lethe noted a distinct absence of anything that hinted to a relationship with his master. Pallas was supposed to be one of Vowrawn's most trusted lieutenants, but from looking at his office, one would not have guessed he had anything to do with the Dark Councillor. There were no insignias, no photographs, no tokens that indicated the man held any allegiance to the all-but-exiled Darth.

She recognized a discolored rectangular square on the wall from a previous visit when the real Siphon still ruled; Lethe was only an apprentice then. The space once harbored a painting of Vowrawn and his closest disciples, including Pallas.

It was not lost on her that the portrait had been taken down.

"Ah, actually, I think it might be best if we shared this conversation in private, my lord," said Pallas, glancing to Eris briefly before returning his attention to Lethe.

She offered a quiet chuckle in return. "Fret not, Pallas. My apprentice is trustworthy. Anything you have to say can be said in front of her."

Pallas considered for a moment before finally relenting. He took a seat behind his immaculately-kept desk, beckoning Lethe and Eris to do the same with nearby chairs. Lethe settled into her seat, but Eris remained standing, arms folded behind her back, positioning herself so she had an ample view of both the doorway and her master's conversation.

The balding Sith hemmed and hawed for several moments before Lethe finally lost her patience and decided to prod him into speaking his mind.

"So, to what do I owe the privilege of an invitation to meet with Darth Vowrawn's most loyal disciple?"

That description provoked just the reaction Lethe had expected. "Ah, I would hardly consider myself - uh … what I mean is Darth Vowrawn has been absent for much time now, I could hardly be -"

"Come now, Pallas, it was a compliment. Darth Vowrawn's influence is still remembered, though I must admit it does not seem like his memory is missed in your office. You do still serve him, no?"

"Of course. They're renovating the offices, is all," said Pallas halfheartedly. "I had to clean some things up before they got thrown out."

"Is that so?" Her tone was enough to convey her disbelief. "But to the point then. Why has Vowrawn's lieutenant sent for the mistress of a most humble powerbase?"

Eris glanced from Lethe to Pallas, her curiosity clearly overwhelming her sense of duty as a personal guard for the moment.

"Yes, well … the Citadel has attracted much attention in recent days. Internal shakeups and … bold moves, shall we say?"

What was the man getting at? "Is this why you've summoned me here?" she asked, offering an ingenuine laugh. "To spout riddles about the Citadel's activities?"

"Let's just say that the rumors are flying fast," said Pallas. "Pretty soon, all of Ziost will know that you've elevated a failed apprentice to the rank of Lord."

Lethe glanced briefly to Eris, whose face had flushed ever so slightly. " … then all of Ziost should learn to mind its own business."

"Word has even spread back to Dromund Kaas," pressed Pallas. "This promotion is … highly irregular."

She bristled at his words; they were a slap in the face. Who was he to judge her decisions? He was only a lord, she was a _Darth_. "And here I thought Darth Vowrawn had some sort of alliance to propose. Instead I find only that his disciple thinks he can question me. You're lucky I still afford Vowrawn a measure of respect, Pallas. Otherwise, I'm afraid your office renovations will also require a deep carpet cleaning."

Pallas shrunk back into his chair, the implication of her words clearly not lost on him. Still, he seemed intent on speaking his piece, his voice now shriveled to all the auditory power of a frightened mouse. "My lord, please understand. I do not say these things to castigate, but out of fealty. Out of loyalty. We have always been allies, have we not? Friends?"

"Do not ply me with false allegiances and honeyed words. What use have I for a friend who second-guesses my judgment?"

"My lord, you must know that my philosophy closely echoes your own. I too believe that Orthas' way was antiquated, certain to doom the Empire to defeat. I want to support you, I mean to do so. But Lord Eris' elevation … it draws unwanted attention, it reeks of desperation and weakness."

"Weakness?!" exploded Lethe. "Eris slew a lord renowned for savagery and combat prowess. Eris saved my life against an assassin! You call that weakness?!"

"Nevertheless, she is still a failed apprentice. Without seeing her skills for themselves, the rest of the Empire will think her victories a fluke. And for you to accept her as your own personal pupil, in the place of other qualified options within your own powerbase … this is the sort of thing that leads other Sith to think you are losing control of your power structure. Some will suspect you do not wish to select a more powerful disciple out of fear of being supplanted. Others will say you can only command the loyalty of a failed apprentice. Either way, this does not look good."

Lethe wanted to throttle Pallas, but reason held her back. The man's words were not without merit. More aggravatingly, they made Pallas' case compelling. The last thing she needed was for other Sith Lords to start thinking her powerbase was weak, was ripe to be undermined and subsumed.

"What do you suggest then, _friend?_ Should I turn my back on a loyal disciple who is already elevated?"

"Master, I never expected the title," said Eris. Although she looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but here, her tone and voice were earnest. "If it will help, I can forego it."

Silly girl. "A generous offer, but irrelevant to the question," Lethe said matter-of-factly. "Will I not look a greater fool rescinding her lordship now? Will that not make me look weak as well?"

Pallas looked relieved that their conversation had returned to a measure of calm. "There is a simple solution. Send Lord Eris back to Korriban. Have her undergo the trials once more."

That was a thought. If Eris could complete her trials, there would be no question as to her right to ascend.

"Lord Eris has proven capable," continued Pallas. "As you mentioned, she has defeated Lord Rime in single combat. She has survived an assassination attempt. She should have no trouble completing her training. A few months, a year, tops. And once she is returned, no one would dare question her status as Lord."

A few months … that was a long time to be without her trusted confidante, especially while she was surrounded by enemies. And if the Citadel really was being targeted by outside forces … she wanted Eris close by.

Lethe glanced to her apprentice, whose face could not quite hide an equal measure of dismay at the thought of being sent back to Korriban. The girl opened her mouth a few times - no doubt to object - but could not seem to find the right words to convince her argument. Lethe didn't blame her for not wanting to return to Korriban. There was no more literal hell.

"All I ask is you consider it, my lord. I think you will come to find this to be the most prudent course of action. With one move, you can legitimize Eris as a Lord, and dissuade the circling vultures among your peers."

She could not deny his logic, but neither did she want to capitulate. Not yet. "Then I will consider it. Thank you, Pallas … I see now your intentions were pure. I apologize for my outburst."

Pallas looked like a giant weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "I've put it from my mind already, Darth Siphon. As I said … those of us who believe the Empire's citizens should put the Empire above petty infighting and internal conflicts need to stick together."

"You're right, of course. I will give your counsel some thought. I trust there's nothing else you wished to discuss?"

The balding man shook his head.

Lethe inclined her head slightly, watched as Eris did the same. They departed Pallas' office, making their way back through the halls to take the turbolift back down and return to Thresh, who had now waited for them for over an hour.

As they exited the People's Tower and started descending the steps, Eris asked a quiet question. "Are you going to send me back to Korriban, master?"

Lethe looked to her apprentice then. She saw hints of fear, of uncertainty, of doubt; she knew those feelings all too well. She felt them now too, more than ever.

" … not if I can help it."

* * *

Back in his office, Lord Pallas activated his holocom.

"If it isn't my favorite New Adastan. I trust you bring news?" came the contemptuous greeting from Lord Beral's cerulean form. She supped on some form of aquatic delicacy with unrepentant slurping sounds; Pallas always found it remarkable that the woman could eat as much as she did without putting on a pound of fat.

" … I've done as you asked, my lord," he said. "I believe Darth Siphon took our counsel to heart."

"Good. I trust our words will not be lost on her … it should be interesting seeing what she does next.

"Is that why you had me put on this bit of theater? To provoke a reaction?"

Beral only smiled. "Just keep your eye on her for me, won't you my friend?"

Pallas sighed, once again ignored and yet helpless to object. If only Vowrawn hadn't gotten himself into the giant mess that he did, perhaps Pallas would have better standing to deal with this infuriating woman. Instead, pushed to the limits as he was, Pallas could do little more than kowtow to Beral's whims.

" … as you say, my lord. I will contact you -"

The holocom disconnected before Pallas could finish speaking.

* * *

Lethe sat quietly, mulling over Pallas' words as Thresh weaved their speeder through New Adasta's Central District with practiced poise and confidence. The old agent was competent at this, at least; he knew the shortcuts and back alleys better than most. Lethe almost wished he would slow down; she wanted more time to think by herself, more time to process what had just happened, before she had to step back into her stronghold where vipers lay waiting at every corner.

Eris sat in the front passenger seat, soberingly silent as well. She seemed to loathe the thought of returning to Korriban, though Lethe wasn't quite sure why. By any rational measure, having Eris complete her trials would indeed solve many problems. It would quiet the resentments expressed by Cyriak. It would reassure the rest of the Empire that nothing was amiss within her powerbase.

And Pallas had a point. It's not like Eris would have any trouble completing her trials. Not after all the training she had received at Lethe's instruction. Not after defeating Rime and the cyborg assassin. What was a lowly, prejudiced overseer to her now? A stepping stone, no more.

Still, Lethe could not help but share her apprentice's sentiment. In the grand scheme of things, Korriban was perhaps not the farthest destination from Ziost, but being separated from the one person she could trust in her powerbase seemed a more daunting challenge than she originally anticipated.

They arrived at the speeder platform on the fortieth floor of the Citadel to a curious sight. Typically a cadre of slaves would be waiting to receive their master, but none were present. Instead, only the security guards stood at attention; they too looked more bewildered than usual.

"What's the meaning of this?" bellowed Thresh at the nearest guard. "Darth Siphon has returned! Where is her retinue?"

One of the guards responded, terrified. Lethe sighed … if her security forces could be cowed by a doddering old fool, it was no wonder an assassin could slip through their ranks.

"Lord Cyriak just sent word from the Orbital Defense Command Center. Darth Nox's apprentice, Lady Ashara Zavros, has had a last minute scheduling rearrangement. She is on her way to the Citadel now."

"She wasn't due to arrive for another week ... " said Thresh.

Lethe frowned from behind her master's mask. Curious. "Did Cyriak say what caused the change in plans?"

"No, my lord. But he commanded the slave staff to prepare for the Lady's arrival. Lord Astraad is overseeing their work now."

"How long until the Lady Zavros arrives?" asked Eris.

"About an hour, my lord," came the reply.

That was not much time. She had hoped to learn a bit more about the apprentice's history, to potentially find a weakness that she could leverage to her advantage. She had seen the real Siphon do the same in negotiations with more powerful Sith countless times.

No matter … she would have to make do.

"Thresh, get me whatever you can on Darth Nox's apprentice. Eris, assemble the rest of my councillors, then meet me in the throne room. We must be ready to welcome a most honored guest."


	14. Usurpers - Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

* * *

Lethe read the datapad Thresh had assembled for her with focused intensity. She had already situated herself in the Citadel's throne room, near the top of the high-rise - a grand hall that stretched the entirety allowable space in the massive skyscraper, supported by ancient Sith pillars and decorated with old relics. Banners bearing the Empire's markings hung from the roof in twin rows that stretched to a simple throne; long transparisteel windows on the Citadel's western and eastern faces provided an ample view of New Adasta.

Most of the designs and architecture were of Orthas' choosing; Lethe hadn't the time to redecorate the place with everything that had happened since her takeover. As a result, the room projected an overly traditional atmosphere for her taste. Orthas' preference in decor was as antiquated as his teachings.

Thresh's intelligence had arrived quickly, but it seemed Ashara Zavros was as much a mystery as her master. Conflicting reports about her activities under Nox made developing a negotiating strategy difficult; still, most records seemed to agree that Nox had found her on Taris and had manipulated her into betraying her Jedi teachings. Despite this, she hadn't completely abandoned her old allegiances. Some reports even suggested the Lady Zavros harbored a desire to bring peace between the Republic and the Empire.

Lethe knew her own ideas to be radical among her peers; even she wouldn't consider attempting such a doomed prospect as was Zavros' desire.

She was still struggling to piece together a diplomatic plan when Eris, Astraad, and a contingent of novice apprentices entered the throne room via the double doors that led to the turbolifts. The absence of two of her councillors did not go unnoticed.

"Where are Hadrax and Cyriak?" asked Lethe.

"Cyriak is still on his way back from the Orbital Station," said Astraad. "Speeder traffic, as he tells it; he assures that he will be but a few minutes late. As for Hadrax … my lord, we haven't been able to locate him."

A chill suddenly ran down Lethe's spine. Hadrax, missing? Something about that did not feel right, not after their last exchange. What was that insolent pureblood up to?

"Darth Siphon," said Thresh over the Citadel's intercom. "Lady Zavros has docked at our speederport. Shall I instruct security to direct her to you?"

Lethe cursed beneath her breath. She would have to deal with Hadrax later. "Yes, send her up at once. Astraad, Eris … at my side. The rest of you disciples, in formation. Let us show Darth Nox's apprentice a regal welcome."

They did as she commanded. Lethe herself sank into the throne, deliberately striking a relaxed and casual posture. Nox might be a Dark Councillor, but her apprentice was not even a lord among the Sith. It would not be appropriate to allow Zavros to think she was being too highly regarded. Lethe, after all, was the only Darth present.

She rubbed her temple; she was starting to get a headache. They used to occur regularly, but had subsided for the most part since her ascension. Of course, she now had other maladies to worry about. Even so, the headaches had grown common in the past few days … at first, she thought it was yet another side effect of using the Holocron, but they appeared more random than could be attributed to the relic. She would have to go see Tivan about them if they kept up.

It took only a few minutes for the sound of the turbolift's creaking engines to reach their floor. Across the room, Lethe watched as three figures approached. The first was a female togruta - this had to be Zavros. A hood covered much of the top of her face, but Lethe caught a glimpse of the montrals and lekku. Her two bodyguards were also hooded, dressed in plain sith robes.

As they neared Lethe's throne, all three figures offered a courteous bow. The bodyguard to Zavros' right spoke an introduction; the voice was somehow familiar, but Lethe couldn't quite place it. "Darth Siphon. May I present Lady Ashara Zavros, disciple to Darth Nox, Keeper of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge."

A flicker of pain danced across Lethe's temple. Her headache was getting worse, but she bore through the discomfort. "Lady Zavros. The Citadel is most honored to welcome you."

Ashara Zavros did not respond, merely glancing to the bodyguard who spoke. Lethe hadn't noticed earlier, but she saw now clearly; the woman's body shook with fear, quaked in terror. Had Hadrax been right? Was this mewling coward all that Nox could muster?

"Come, friends," said Astraad. "There is no need for shrouds or mystery here. We should be allies. Remove your hoods and let us speak plainly and openly."

Still, the togruta did not respond. Now, both she and the other silent bodyguard turned to glance at their remaining companion. Something about that one tugged at Lethe's memory. He was human, that much Lethe could tell … but from her vantage point, she could not see enough to recognize his face. Not while he remained hooded.

"What is the meaning of this?" asked Astraad. Lethe could hear a pinch of anxiety enter his voice. "What's going on here? Why do you not speak?"

For a second, Lethe thought she saw the bodyguards look to her, to the throne. But no … they weren't looking at her. They were looking at something _behind her._

She glanced back … and saw nothing. What was going on?!

"Master, something's wrong!" said Eris. "That woman - that's not Ashara Zavros! The patterns on her lekku and her chin - they don't match any of the descriptions we received from Sith Intelligence."

Her apprentice was right. Lethe rose from her throne, stepping towards the pretenders, hands reaching for her lightsaber. "… you dare to impersonate the disciple of Darth Nox?! Speak! Identify yourselves!"

The togruta glanced once more to her "bodyguard." He offered a brief nod … and she took off bolting.

"Seize her!" screamed Astraad.

The entire contingent of her apprentices leaped towards the fleeing woman, eager to capture her for their master and for their own glory. They were fast - but the togruta woman's bodyguards were faster. Like lightning, they streaked across the room, intercepting Lethe's apprentices before they could reach the Zavros impersonator. A flash of blue. A flash of yellow. Two lightsabers, two more assassins.

In the heat of the moment, one of the bodyguards' hood and cloak came loose. Lethe recognized it instantly: another cyborg, again bearing Vandal Pike's helmet. … _not this again!_

Eris and Astraad leaped forward to join the battle, but it was too late. One by one, the lowest of her apprentices fell, cut down before Lethe could order them to retreat. The togruta impostor fled out of sight - no matter; Lethe still had guards waiting in the halls. She wouldn't get far.

What did these insects think they were playing at? "Do you really think you can challenge me? You've already failed once! You're nothing but impostors, charlatans, frauds!"

A voice spoke beside her, seemingly coming from nowhere, sending a jolt of surprise through her veins. "Indeed. What are you, Lethe, but an _impostor?"_

"Master, behind you!" cried Sierra.

Her mind exploded in excruciating agony. At first she thought it was her headache turned to a migraine, but no. She knew this pain, knew this fear. An invisible, iron gauntlet closed itself around her skull, pushing inwards at the fingertips, determined to crush, to destroy. It was the Force, unleashed with unadulterated fury.

Lethe screamed.

A figure stepped from the shadows; Lethe could feel a cloak of Force being released to unveil a fourth interloper. Cold laughter that mirrored her own poured from this one's mouth, her voice just beyond recognition.

"My dearest apprentice, look who's calling the kettle black?"

It couldn't be.

The voice, absent her mask's modulation, spoke with all the contemptuous vainglory that boasted of her former master, the real Siphon, the real Darth.

Could she have survived after all? After all this time, could she actually be alive? A spark in Lethe's mind: Siphon was the one who had sent that first message to her, that accusation in brilliant scarlet letters. _**IMPOSTOR.**_ She was the only one who could've known, who would've dared to ...

Her body had never been found. Only her mask remained after the Kaggath. Only her seat upon Orthas' throne. Only her legacy.

 _It was all Lethe's now._ After everything she had sacrificed, everything she had achieved, she wouldn't let them be taken from her, not even by their rightful owner!

Throwing caution to the wind, Lethe summoned the power of the Holocron. There was no time for hesitation now, no room for second-guessing or deliberation. She faced her former master; she needed its power. It came all too willingly, shattering the real Siphon's invocation. Instantly, Lethe's mind cleared, the pain vanished, the cloud of uncertainty around her dissipated. She whirled around to look upon her assailant, her master, the true Darth Siphon.

A human woman stood before her, wispy auburn hair tied into a neat bun behind her head. Her face was as scarred as Cyriak's, also victim to flames. A double bladed lightsaber in her hands emanated scarlet light as her face widened into a victorious smile.

So this is what the she looked like. Lethe had never seen her master's true form before … no one had. But there was no doubt in her mind. This was Darth Siphon.

 _Was._ No longer.

"I imagine you've enjoyed your time spent masquerading as your master, Lethe … but your game is concluded now. I have returned to claim my mask. My throne. My empire."

"Master?" asked an astonished Eris. "What's going on? What is this woman talking about?"

"Ignore her, Sierra. Don't believe a word that she says."

"Oh, but I have witnesses. You can reveal yourself now, Lord Rend. I'm sure Lethe will be overjoyed to see you."

 _Rend._ How? Hadn't he died in the Kaggath as well? How could these corpses from the Kaggath all be standing before her, stealing breath where none should pass with very passing second?

Reluctantly, the remaining unidentified bodyguard folded down his hood. It was indeed Lord Rend; Lethe finally recognized the face, joined voice with name. His raven hair and pale skin seemed to frame a face that looked somehow younger than before. His expression registered no emotion; there was no pity, nor bloodlust, nor anger.

Of all of them, Rend had more of right to anger at Lethe than any other. She had abandoned him during their climactic battle with Orthas, after all. She had watched the Darth stop his heart using the Force, had watched him die and then fled to save her own hide.

How was he alive? And why would he and Siphon be working with a cyborg bearing Vandal Pike's markings? None of this made any sense, and neither Siphon nor Rend's face reflected any answers, any emotion … nothing.

"Let's get this over with Siphon," said Rend. "Our agreement didn't include histrionics."

"All my apprentices are so unruly," said the real Siphon with a mock sigh. "I wonder if that's the fault of their teacher."

Lethe had enough. "Astraad, take Rend. Eris, take down that cyborg. I'll handle the impostor."

"Handle me?" chuckled Siphon. "How bold you've grown, Lethe. But I think your loyal followers would like to hear what I have to say."

"That's quite right," said Astraad. "I would."

That bastard. Did he mean to betray Lethe here and now? Even with Astraad siding with her and Eris, even with the Holocron's power, Lethe estimated their chances were still only 50/50. Siphon was a true Darth, and Rend had been among the strongest of her followers. If Astraad were to side with the real Siphon now …

"My friend, Lord Astraad," said Siphon, her tone projecting a charm and flirtation that Lethe had only rarely heard herself. "I must offer my sincere apologies … I fear my apprentice has led you and your brethren astray. Rest assured, it was not my intention to flee the battlefield all those months ago, but circumstances required my presence elsewhere. Who would have thought my overly ambitious disciple would have dared to steal my identity?"

Siphon paused to smile before continuing. " … probably everyone who knew her."

"I'm going to carve out your tongue!" Lethe screamed.

Siphon ignored her. "Still, I must admit to be just the slightest bit insulted that you could not tell the real thing from a fraud. I thought more of you, Astraad."

The sith pureblood did not react, though his eyes mimicked Lethe's as they traced the movements of Rend and his cyborg compatriot as they circled their position.

"In any event," continued Siphon, "I am here to declare that any who followed this pretender are welcome to join me now. I will overlook your transgressions in following this false Darth. But remain at her side, and I can only guarantee that you will share her fate."

Eris wasted no time racing to Lethe's side, brandishing her lightsaber defensively. "I'm with you, Master. Until the end."

"Until the end." A small relief. Lethe was not alone. And she still had the Holocron … perhaps it would enough.

Siphon clapped her hands with false acclaim. "A warm round of applause for this disciple's utterly misguided loyalty." She turned to Astraad. "What of you? I don't imagine Lethe has been the commander you had hoped for. Join me, and see your ambitions realized. Join me … and I will honor the arrangement we made all those months ago."

This was it. If Astraad turned on them now … Lethe and Eris would be in the fight of their lives.

The pureblood turned from the real Siphon to the false, appraising each for a long moment. All the while, Rend and the cyborg circled them, waiting, readying themselves to attack.

"Well?" asked Siphon.

Astraad smiled. "Allow me to answer with my lightsaber!"

Lethe almost couldn't believe her eyes as Astraad leaped into the air, robes fluttering behind him, lightsaber spinning forward to attack her former master. Their blades didn't exchange blows more than twice before Sierra followed suit, launching herself at the second cyborg Pike.

Lethe shouted into her comlink. "Thresh! Get security in here now!"

The line was dead. Someone had disabled the coms. Lethe didn't have time to ponder who - a wave of violet lightning cascaded towards her, shot forth from Rend's fingertips. She swung her blade forward to catch the electricity; it wrapped onto her lightsaber like claws, , grasping, but futile.

She didn't wait, drawing back her free hand to summon the Holocron's power. She would show all these fools their folly.

Rend was a second quicker. He had thrown his own yellow lightsaber in a wide arc, the blade spinning end to end with the intent to decapitate her. Lethe ducked down to dodge, but the effort interrupted her conjuring. No matter how powerful the Holocron was, she couldn't bring its power to bear if she didn't have the requisite time to call it forth; not if she expected to retain what sliver of control she had over the thing.

The heat of battle only increased the strain on her mind.

"If your loyalty is to Siphon," said Lethe, flushing her voice with her master's haughtiness, " … you are on the wrong side." Maybe she could buy herself time. Stall. Just until she had enough.

"Give it up Lethe," countered Rend. "I know the truth. You can drop the charade." He threw another jolt of lightning forth, arcing it forward with incredible velocity. Lethe countered with a static barrier, conjured forth to swallow his attack, absorbing it into the Force harmlessly.

"Still the lapdog," she accused, glancing around the throne room to find both Astraad and Eris deep in battle. _Fine._ If Rend wanted her to get real, she would. "How did you survive? I watched Orthas kill you."

"Put your lightsaber down and I'll tell you."

Lethe scoffed at that ludicrous offer, deciding on a different tactic. "You know we were disposable to her, right? You still are. She'll cast you aside as soon as you've served your purpose!"

Rend ignored her. "This isn't personal, Lethe. Stand down. Fall in line and Siphon will spare you. You have my word."

She wouldn't relent. "Your word?" she spat. "Is that supposed to mean something? Like how you wrapped Hallian around your thumb and then killed her? Like how you gave your word to your brother that you would spare him? That's right, Siphon told me everything!"

"Shut UP!" His hands thrust forward once more, brimming with power, charged with wrath. She could sense the power in him, could feel the raw Force that he commanded. She knew that were the attack to connect, she might never get the chance for a reprisal.

But suddenly, as if someone turned a switch in his mind, the lightning that raced down Rend's fingertips died, vanished, dissipated before they could coalesce. In that second, Lethe saw his eyes widen in shock and disbelief, unable to comprehend what was happening.

The yellow in his irises faded to reveal a pale mahogany.

This wasn't Lethe's doing; she didn't know what had overcome Rend, what had negated all that power she felt just seconds ago. But she would not look this gift horse in its mouth; it gave her all the time she needed. Enough to summon the Holocron to bolster her own power. Enough to reach out through the Force and deliver a crippling blow, smashing Rend's body so hard against the throne room's western window that his body cracked the transparisteel.

Rend collapsed to the floor, unmoving.

She didn't have time to savor her victory; two more battles still raged on. Across the room, Eris traded blows with the cyborg again and again; they were an even match. Their lightsabers showered the floor with sparks as Eris' crimson blade clashed with the cyborg's blue one. Eris danced between the lightsaber forms, from Makashi to Ataru, then to Juyo. Against the cyborg's superior stamina, speed, and strength, they were not enough.

Near the throne, Astraad and the real Siphon battled. Lethe could tell her councillor was on the losing end, short of breath, struggling to parry each of the Darth's attacks. He used the Force to tear down the Imperial banners that surrounded them, sending them flying towards Siphon like red eels, blocking her vision, attempting to encase her like a mummy. Siphon whirled her double-bladed lightsaber, shredding her cloth assailants into ribbons.

Before Astraad could make his next move, Lethe's former master reached out with one hand; instantly, Astraad's weapon fell from his grasp as his body lifted into the air against his will. He wheezed, gasping for breath, choking.

Lethe summoned the Holocron's power, directed it at her former master. The Holocron obliged, surging into her veins, flushing into her mind: a deluge of indescribable euphoria. Siphon must have sensed her impending attack, because she released Astraad from her hold … and then vanished.

Astraad slumped against the throne, unconscious.

How could the real Siphon have just disappeared? Lethe didn't remember her possessing this ability ...

Lethe focused, channeling the Force, channeling the Holocron. All thoughts of consequences fled her mind. Siphon thought she could obfuscate reality from her? She thought Lethe could be fooled by the same deception twice?! That fool. None could deny her. None could defy her. The Holocron guaranteed it!

She could sense it now. Footsteps, masked by the Force, cloaked by Sith sorcery. But not beyond her sight. Not anymore.

"Sierra! Watch out!"

Siphon's form flickered, lightsaber raised over Eris' figure, her face a reflection of surprise. Lethe felt her heart swell with pride. Her master had underestimated her. She would make her pay for that.

Lethe's outstretched hand directed a storm of turbulence towards her former master, forcing the burned Darth to dodge aside. In that moment, Eris summoned the Force herself, pushing the cyborg assassin straight into the path of Lethe's attack. Unable to resist, it suffered the combined Force power of both Lethe and Eris, their solidarity, their unified glory. The metal alloys in its limbs screeched their desperation as master and apprentice's combined onslaught crushed the cyborg like a metal compactor, leaving only a crumpled ball of broken droid parts and dead flesh.

Siphon glanced first to her fallen cyborg assassin, then to the unconscious Rend. She turned back to Lethe, her arrogant smile defiant in its insolence.

" … I know it's quite cliche to say this, but good help really is so hard to find these days."

"Surrender," said Eris. "You're outnumbered, you impostor. You're beaten."

"Am I? So like your master … she always did enjoy leaping to false conclusions."

Lethe wanted to rip that condescension out from her master's throat.

Without warning, Siphon was on the move again, this time sending a torrent of lightning at Lethe. Once again, Lethe conjured a static barrier to absorb the blast, but Siphon's attack was in a different league than Rend's. Her barrier crumbled in an instant; before Lethe could react, electricity wracked her entire body, stunning her, stealing her autonomy.

Pain followed quickly.

Even as Lethe struggled to break free of her paralyzing shackles, Siphon was already moving against Eris. Lethe's apprentice was strong, but Siphon was stronger still, too strong. Too powerful. This was a true Darth's ability: the strength, the speed, the mastery of the Force. Eris was no match. Lethe could only watch as Siphon's lightsaber flashed once, twice; Eris screamed as Siphon knocked the blade from her hand.

With one outstretched hand, Siphon compelled Eris down to her knees. With the other, she prepared to plunge her lightsaber into her victim's chest.

No. _**NO.**_

Lethe would not allow this. She would not permit it! Siphon would not steal from her like this again, _not again._ Lethe would sooner die than suffer this loss another time.

She opened her soul and tore down the floodgates to allow the final secrets of the Holocron of Ancient Sorcery to fill her veins, to devour her whole. She gave herself up to the Holocron, gave in to its whispers, gave in to the overwhelming surge of power. Frost seared through her veins. Pride overran her mind. Hatred closed its grip around her heart.

Everything turned red as blood.

Empowered by the Holocron, Siphon's shackles were but paper to Lethe; she cast them aside without even thinking. She had but one purpose now, one will, one way: the destruction of her former master. Where Orthas had failed, Lethe would succeed. With one hand, Lethe conjured the Force all around Siphon, twisting it against its natural condition, compelling it to constrict her victim, freezing her master in place, petrifying her with but a thought.

Siphon's tongue managed one word before it too was stilled. " … i-impossible!"

Lethe could see it now, could see Siphon's eyes widen in disbelief, unable to comprehend why her blade would not strike the killing blow. Her eyes darted to Lethe, as if to ask: how?! Lethe could see in them fear. For the first time in her life, Lethe saw fear, saw terror, reflected in her master's expression.

Jubilant gratification surged through Lethe's whole body.

Free of Siphon's attack, Eris scrambled backwards to return to Lethe's side, panting from the exertion. Her voice carried a desperate and fearful tone: "Kill her, master! Kill her!"

Lethe barely heard Eris' pleas. The Holocron felt alive in her, guiding her every movement, her every decision. It was the only thing that mattered. It told her what she needed to do. She would remove Siphon from existence, prove once and for all that Lethe was the master of this powerbase, that she was the stronger Sith. Prove that she would be Empress, a Dark Lady of the Sith that none could rival, that none would dare challenge. She would be the herald that saw this Empire reborn, remade in her image, restored to grandeur.

She closed her outstretched hand into a violent fist, invoking the Force to wrap itself around her former master's heart, her mind, her very soul. Siphon screamed in anguish, still paralyzed, still unable to comprehend more than the torment she now experienced. Blood trickled down from her eyes, her ears, her mouth: crimson tears to portend Lethe's victory. Lethe purposefully released her hold over her master, allowed Siphon the luxury of convulsing, spasming as the Holocron's power decimated her flesh, her organs, her mind.

Lethe could feel it now, could sense it, could taste it in the air. _Victory!_ None could defy her! _All would submit!_

"M-master … stop!"

What was this? A second shriek joined the first, its voice so familiar, its presence so close by. Lethe turned to see her apprentice, Sierra, clawing at her face, screaming out her lungs as blood trickled down from her ears, a horrifying reflection of Siphon, her ally turned her victim. Her apprentice turned her sacrifice.

Once more, a hallucination; it had to be. Lethe knew it would pass, just as the others did. This wasn't real. In a few more seconds, her vision would shatter and reform, and reality would reassert itself. It was only a delusion: a small price to pay for this victory.

"Master, _please!"_

The screams wouldn't stop.

 _Why wouldn't they stop?_

Moments passed, but there was only the desperate cries of Lethe's master and apprentice, screaming, writhing in synchronized agony.

Could this be real? Was this not an illusion?

She tried now, tried to force her hand down, tried to close off the unending well of Force power she had summoned, all to no avail. This couldn't be real. This wasn't the truth, it couldn't be -

Siphon collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath, suffocating on her own sanguine fluid. Sierra tried to flee from Lethe, desperately forcing her legs to move, failing, falling to all fours; Lethe's power had already taken hold, forcing the girl to the ground, choking, spitting blood. Even Astraad - still slumped against the throne - began to bleed from his eyes.

 _No._

Lethe couldn't stop it, couldn't close the floodgates against this tide. It was too late. The Holocron refused her order, denied her demand, rejected her supplication. Its will was stronger than hers, and it lusted for blood, craved death. She could feel it now, could sense its true desire: it would not be satisfied until it had devoured everything and left only destruction in its wake. Only oblivion.

They would all die.

Then, she felt it. The Force, summoned again from across the throne room. Rend! He had awakened. He too was bleeding from his eyes, but he seemed far enough way that the Holocron had not yet incapacitated him. Maybe he could save them. Maybe he would -

She watched him arc a wave of Force Lightning at her in slow motion; whatever had prevented his attack from coalescing moments ago seemed no longer a hindrance - he looked almost surprised that his efforts came to fruition.

The lightning burned bright and powerful. This time it was Lethe that could not do anything to stop him, still held captive by her ancient sorcery. Electricity slammed into her head.

The initial shock was enough to break her free from the Holocron's compulsion, but Rend's attack did not end there.

Undeniable power surged from his fingertips into her mask, too much power, too much pain! The temperature of her mask exploded upwards hundreds of degrees, causing it to sear onto her face, melting the metal onto her skin, into her bone. Burning, boiling agony drowned her visage; she screamed her excruciating suffering. Only instinct saved her from unconsciousness; she redirected her pain into the Force, discharging a blast that finally broke Rend's assault and sent Siphon and Eris flying across the room in opposite directions.

"Hallie, we need evac at the western wall, now! " Rend screamed into his own comlink as he raced to his master's side, throwing the broken body of the real Siphon over his shoulder. He glanced at Lethe, then to the cracked transparisteel window.

Lethe struggled to get to her feet, to bear through the overwhelming agony. She had to stop them, she couldn't let them escape!

Rend was too fast; he slammed the Force into the transparisteel, shattering it, spraying transparent metal outwards down forty stories. Lethe sent mind-crushing blasts of Force at him and her former master, but Rend conjured his own barrier, repelling each of her attacks before they could connect. Weakened, still overwhelmed by agony and struggling to stay conscious, Lethe could only watch as Rend dropped their master out the hole he had created in the Citadel's wall, and then jumped out himself.

The sound of footsteps stormed from the throne room's main entrance. It was her security forces, finally arrived. As usual, too late to do anything.

Lethe pushed herself to follow while desperately trying to remove her mask; it would not come free, already seared into her face. The pain was overpowering, but she forced herself to bear through it. As she came to the hole in the wall, she saw a speeder in the distance, already racing away at top speed. She saw a red-headed woman driving, saw Rend in the front passenger seat. Siphon's body slumped over a quaking togruta woman - even the Zavros impersonator had escaped.

Still, their attempt to seize Lethe's throne had failed. Whatever the price … no matter the sacrifice, today was her victory.

It was her only solace.

Lethe watched as Rend turned around to take one final look at their failure. Their eyes met for just a second and they shared a promise that things were not over.

It wasn't until the speeder had vanished from her sight that Lethe finally allowed herself to sink into unconsciousness.


	15. Usurpers - Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

* * *

Lethe woke while Ziost's afternoon sun still hung itself in the sky; cold light poured in from the large windows beside her. She recognized the Citadel's medical ward; wounded soldiers filled the beds all around her. Tivan's staff rushed from casualty to casualty examining injuries and performing triage. Doctor Tivan himself hovered over Lethe as he examined a medical datapad - hers - while Agent Thresh stood to attention nearby.

"What … what happened?"

"What do you remember, my lord?" asked Tivan.

Everything was a murky haze; her thoughts spun through a morass of jumbled memories and emotions. "I … I remember an attack. The re- an impostor, and her allies … they escaped …"

Thresh nodded. "Their advance came from multiple fronts, my lord. The entire Citadel came under attack as soon as the impostor stepped into the throne room. They cut the coms and then two dozen cyborg assassins launched a full-scale assault on the Citadel's main entrance."

"Cyborg … assassins," Lethe managed, still struggling to meander through her confusion.

"Bearing the same markings as the one that attacked you on the rooftop," said Thresh. "It seemed that incursion was only a small show of what was to come. We lost … so many good men, and over half are -."

Tivan shook his head to Thresh."Not now. Darth Siphon needs her rest."

The old agent scowled but held his tongue. Tivan turned to Lethe once more. "Your injuries are extraordinarily severe. It's a miracle you're alive."

Thresh pressed his comlink closer into his ear, then quietly excused himself, looking troubled.

Lethe lifted an arm to take off her mask. She didn't care anymore if anyone knew her real face; Siphon had all but discredited her anyway. She needed to feel free, she needed her skin to feel the touch of fresh air and sun and temperature. She couldn't bear to wear the thing a moment longer, she had to -

Tivan seized her arm before her fingers could close on the metal. "Stop, don't. Darth Siphon, restrain yourself."

Darth Siphon? Did he not know? Could she still be Siphon even after what had happened? It took her only a second to know the truth, and still, the realization of her fate struck her like a boulder careening slowly down a mountain.

The question wasn't whether she could still be Siphon … _it was whether she could ever be anyone else._

"The metal, it's … seared into the bone in some places. You're lucky it didn't get into your eyes or you'd be blind … but try to take it off, and you'll pull off your face with it."

 _No._ No, no… no. No! _NO!_

Tivan continued, oblivious to Lethe's torment. "I almost wanted to bind your arms to prevent you from doing what you almost just did, but Lord Eris insisted that would not be necessary."

Lethe wasn't listening.

The battle was supposed to be won. She had sent her master and her lackeys scurrying, fleeing. She had proved herself the stronger Sith, had demonstrated her superiority … but at what cost? This symbol of her master would be forever-bound to her, her face immortally-imprisoned by a metal cage of her master's making, seared into her flesh by Rend's hands.

Fury and despair filled her in equal measure. To be trapped like this, to never again know the feel of another's touch upon her face … she had never known how much she wanted it. How much she needed it. How much she craved it. She felt tears well in her eyes, against her will, against her desire.

She was Sith; she would not let them fall. Not before she paid her enemies back, every last one of them. Rend, Siphon, and whoever else harbored loyalties to them; all would perish.

Then, the memories of her battle returned. The Holocron and its undeniable power. Its unquenchable thirst for annihilation. Its overpowering domination. Her apprentice collapsing to the floor, covered in blood, being thrown across the throne room by Lethe's power, against all of Lethe's best efforts to contain it.

"Eris. She's alive? Where is she?" Lethe glanced around the room, eyes in frantic search.

Tivan nodded his reassurance, holding up an arm to calm her. "She will be fine, my lord. Her injuries were severe, but she should recover. She's resting in her quarters. Lord Astraad, on the other hand …"

"What about Astraad?" asked Lethe. Knowing that she was not alone in her suffering helped to ameliorate it, if only by the tiniest fraction.

"He's in critical condition. The injuries he sustained - I'm surprised he's not dead, to be honest. We managed to stabilize him; he's resting in his quarters too. I'll keep you updated if anything changes."

Lethe wondered if she was wrong about the pureblood. Astraad had chosen her over Siphon, had remained loyal to Lethe even in the face of Siphon's offer to honor their original arrangement, whatever that meant. She had been so suspicious of him for all these months, and yet - presented with the opportunity to betray her for his own gain - he remained loyal. Lethe felt regret clutch at her heart; it was not a feeling she enjoyed, but she knew when she was wrong. If Astraad survived, Lethe promised she would show him contrition and appreciation in equal measure.

"Why aren't they here?" she asked Tivan. "Shouldn't you be monitoring them?"

"They've been stabilized, my lord," Tivan responded before glancing to the rest of the facility. "And as you can see, we have our hands full with …"

Tivan trailed off, further explanation unnecessary. They were surrounded by the wounded and the dying, numbering at least fifty, comprised of both sith and soldier. A massacre the likes of which she had never seen.

A dozen cyborg assassins had done _this_? Not only had they taken her face, her identity … they had dealt a terrible blow to her powerbase.

"As for you, my lord, we administered several doses of anesthetics to numb the pain, but that -"

Thresh burst back into the medical ward, looking panicked and terrified. "My lord Siphon!"

Lethe and Tivan both turned to face Thresh. "What is it?" she asked.

"It's Lord Hadrax, he ... he has betrayed us. He's taken Twinspire Keep for his own, has slaughtered all of our forces within!"

"What?! How?"

"It must have happened while the Citadel's coms were down. While the impostor made her move, he was making his own. Twinspire is overrun by his followers, he -"

"Impossible! He doesn't have the power, he doesn't have the forces! General Ravain, he would have stop-"

Thresh shook his head. "My lord, General Ravain is dead."

Ravain, _dead?!_

"Mobilize the Citadel's military," commanded Lethe. "We will retake Twinspire by force. Hadrax's treachery can't go unpunished."

"My lord, you're in no condition to go anywhere," said Tivan.

Thresh nodded. "Even if you could, my lord …" The agent cringed, clearly terrified of what he was about to say; he glanced to Tivan, who was clearly too shocked to react.

Without Tivan holding him back, Thresh could but continue, " … over half of our forces have gone missing. I think it's clear where they've gone now, my lord, they've joined him. Joined Hadrax. And not only that … they've sabotaged almost all of our war assets: mobile battle platforms, walkers, equipment … most will need weeks to repair, at a minimum."

 _Half of her powerbase, gone. Her forces, neutralized._ "That's … that's not possible …"

"My deepest apologies, my lord!" Thresh was practically begging her not to kill the messenger.

"Is there nothing we can do?" she asked. "... am I just supposed to sit back while he spits in my face?!"

Thresh couldn't respond, sputtering as he attempted to find words to calm her. "I … I will make arrangements for an appeal to the Dark Council. Perhaps with their aid -"

"You will do no such thing! The last thing I need right now is for the Empire to think I can't quash a rebellion within my own house. No. Give me time to think. I'll have orders for you soon."

The aging agent bowed his head. "Of course, my lord." He looked up, pausing to glance at Tivan before returning his attention to Lethe. "There's just one more thing. We received this holo-recording from Lord Hadrax … I think you'll want to see it for yourself."

"Play it," said Lethe.

Thresh hesitated. "My lord, I think … I think perhaps it should be for your eyes only."

Lethe nodded. Tivan sighed, shaking his head. "I'll be outside in case I'm needed."

Thresh handed Lethe a datapad, then drew closed curtains to offer Lethe her privacy. Satisfied upon Thresh and Tivan's departure, Lethe started playback on the holo-recording. Immediately Hadrax's smug face appeared.

" _Darth Siphon. Or, should I call you Lord Lethe? It's so confusing these days, with how many frauds and pretenders plague the Empire._

 _I recently received a most interesting guest. Did you know there is more than one Darth Siphon? I certainly didn't ... this other Siphon claims that you are an impostor, that you have stolen Orthas' throne and powerbase from her. That you are but a lowly Lord, once her apprentice, now a traitor and usurper._

 _Frankly, I don't care one way or another. Siphon or her impostor … none of you are fit to rule. None of you deserve Orthas' legacy. It was a mistake for me to think following you would elevate us; the name Siphon has only stained all that Orthas once represented. I should never have listened to Astraad and declared myself for you._

 _You sought to shroud yourself in weakness. Your foolish decisions have resulted in the ruination of this powerbase's name. Courting allies of impure blood and elevating unworthy disciples ... I will not stand for it any longer!_

 _Which is why I am formally declaring you unfit to lead. I have seized Twinspire and soon, the Citadel will be mine as well. Prepare yourself. You and your fool apprentices will soon realize the depths of your mistakes._

 _Dismissing us was only the beginning of your folly."_

 _Us?_

Hadrax beckoned for someone to approach. Cyriak stepped into view, that infuriatingly sycophantic smile once again on wide display.

 _Cyriak!?_

" _Hello again, Darth Siphon. Please, do not fret, I am perfectly safe. I know you must think me a hostage, because why else would a Sith like me be spending time with Hadrax of all the fools? A very good question, to be sure. After all, I'm certain you've noticed that Hadrax and I have not been the closest of allies at the Citadel._

 _Of course, that was before I realized the extent of your failures as a leader. Sith should rule by power, by wealth, by prestige … but you gave us none of that. You will find that Sith do not typically serve without their own ambitions, their own motivations to declare loyalty. I thought that would be abundantly clear on its own, but apparently you lack the requisite wit to comprehend even that simple fact._

 _Did you think I would remain loyal while you snubbed me at every turn? Did you think I would dote on you, fawn over you, prostrate myself before you because ... what? You promised and delivered nothing? Did you think I didn't know every single time you deflected my advice, discarded my nominations? Did you really think you could dismiss my counsel and still expect to retain it?_

 _Either way, I'd wager you've learned your lesson now. Goodbye, Darth Siphon. I trust you enjoyed the liberty I took rearranging your meeting with Darth Nox's apprentice. Much more lively than the dull negotiations you had planned. Wouldn't you agree?_

 _The next time we meet, perhaps you should try fawning over me. Maybe then I'll consider persuading Hadrax to spare your life."_

The playback came to a stop as the recording concluded. Lethe sat on her bio-bed. She was remarkably calm, all things considered, given what she had just learned. Hadrax and Cyriak, both traitors. Half of her powerbase had abandoned her and the rest was all-but neutralized. The real Siphon was still on the loose, spreading rumors, her very existence a threat to Lethe's claim to power.

Lethe's face, imprisoned for eternity, trapped by Rend's foolish devotion to the real Siphon.

The sound of breaking metal and glass snapped her free of her trance. She glanced down to see that she had crushed the datapad with her bare hands.

Rage took hold of her now. She finished the work she started with her hands using the Force, crushing the datapad into an unrecognizable sphere of broken metal. She sent the debris in her lap flying across the room, embedding it deep into the durasteel walls. She loosed a scream empowered by the Force and watched as her power shook the entire medical ward, watched as the glass on rows of kolto tanks near her cracked and shattered, pouring liquid kolto onto the ground, dumping barely-living soldiers unceremoniously to the floor.

She didn't care. Everything she had accomplished, everything she had sacrificed. All her dreams, her ambitions, her goals … was this all that it amounted to? Treachery at all sides. Enemies in all directions.

If this was what her efforts to reform brought to her, she would cast those foolhardy ideals aside.

Despair clutched at her for only a second, before it was replaced by iron-willed resolve. There was one thing Hadrax and Cyriak were wrong about. They might be right that she was a terrible leader, might even be right that her decisions up until this point had been misguided. But one thing, she knew for certain. In her heart of hearts, she held this one thing to be true, to be real, and she would not let anything, anyone, take that away from her.

 _She would not lose._

She would emerge the victor.

This was her domain, her Empire! Hers to remake, to reshape, to give new life. She would be its Empress. She would be the greatest Sith in all the galaxy! The Holocron had proved it! Whatever its cost, so long as she possessed it, she had the means to destroy her enemies. It gave her ancient power, boundless ambition, enough so that even the real Siphon had crumbled before her. What were these fool lords, but dust in her path to ascension? What were they, but corpses waiting to be buried?

The anesthesia began to wear off. Resolve paired with drowning pain, all-consuming agony, like hot needles pressed against her skin. She embraced it. She indulged it. It was a promise she refused to forsake. When she was done, all of her enemies would kneel before her. Hadrax. Cyriak. Siphon. Rend.

They would know pain.

And then, they would know submission.

* * *

Doctor Garic Tivan stood outside the Medical Ward, feeling the building tremble as though an earthquake rumbled beneath them. It wasn't actually a tectonic tremor, of course. Tivan had worked with enough Sith to recognize the power of the Force. Most Sith possessed an affinity for dramatic displays; it did not surprise him one bit that Darth Siphon was the same.

Agent Thresh stood nearby with his arms folded behind his back. He didn't even blink at the disturbance.

At the sound of shattering glass, Tivan could not reasonably hold his tongue any longer. "I should probably check on her," he said.

"I wouldn't, if I were you," said the old agent, his voice filled with exhaustion. He looked like he had a hard few days. "For your sake, I'd recommend letting Sith get their tantrums out of their systems before visiting them. If you value your life, anyway."

"She could really hurt herself if she keeps that up."

"One can only hope," Thresh muttered. "If you want to go in, it's your funeral … just don't say I didn't warn you."

Tivan sighed, unable to deny the logic in Thresh's words. "Fine. Then tell me, what the hell happened yesterday? One minute I'm told that we're receiving a guest. The next, all the coms go down, and it's chaos in the Citadel. Then I learn there was some kind of attack … rumors of an impostor ... and now Hadrax has betrayed us? What the hell is going on around here?"

"You've summarized it pretty well."

"Come on, Thresh. You know I'm discrete."

"We're still piecing it together ourselves. I'll let you know when we have something concrete."

Thresh sounded wearier with every word he spoke; Tivan decided to spare the old man from more of his probing. "I guess I'll check on Lords Astraad and Eris. Send for me if I'm needed."

Thresh only nodded.

Tivan went straight to the turbolifts, directing them to head towards the personal quarters of the sith lords within the Citadel. He passed several lower-ranking Sith on the way to Eris and Astraad's rooms; Siphon had given Eris the chambers of the now-deceased Lord Hisseratt. It sat at the far end of the floor and housed a spectacular view of New Adasta - almost as breathtaking as the one that could be seen from Siphon's own quarters. Tivan had seen it firsthand; Hisserat was a secret hypochondriac and often called upon the doctor for the slightest of maladies.

Astraad's quarters stood right next to that of Eris. Tivan wondered if Astraad felt any animosity towards Siphon's apprentice for ascending so quickly. Under Orthas, it would've taken a decade for an apprentice to be named Lord, much less be named to Orthas' personal council. The girl Sierra had barely been on anyone's radar before catapulting to the head of the line.

Tivan didn't envy Eris' position. Having the whole Citadel's militant forces resent you was not an enviable turn of events.

Tivan headed for Astraad's door; the pureblood's condition was more critical. But as he approached the hallway, Tivan noticed the door to Eris' quarters was slightly ajar. The Citadel's age showed in much of the building, and especially in quarters that had seen disuse for as long as Hisseratt's did. His frequent visits had taught Tivan that the now-deceased lord's door required a bit of finagling to shut properly; it seemed Eris hadn't learned the trick yet.

He meant only to close it for the girl, afford her some privacy. He stepped up to the sliding door as quietly as he could, careful not to disturb the lord in case she was still sleeping. What he heard next surprised him, however. Eris' was speaking to someone in hushed tones.

The girl's recovery was remarkably quick. But who was she talking to? One of his staff? He thought they were all currently attending other duties.

Curiosity got the better of him and he pushed the door open to listen more closely. He stepped closer into the chambers' entryway, careful to ensure he remained hidden by a wall. Reaching the corner, he could just make out Eris' words. There was no one else in the room as far as Tivan could tell; Eris was communicating via her comlink.

" ... yes, I understand. She's in recovery now … if I'm going to get a chance to examine the holocron alone, now will probably be my best opportunity."

Tivan's eyes widened slightly. What was the girl up to?

"No, she trusts me. She seems different than most, master … it was almost too easy."

His heartbeat quickened. Was Eris talking about Siphon? Siphon was supposed to be her master … but then, who was she talking to now?

"Actually, I wanted to ask something. Are you certain she is Darth Siphon?" A pause. "It was just something the assassins said, about her being an impostor."

This wasn't right. Something was terribly wrong here.

"No, I guess not. She has the holocron, she's the one that matters."

Tivan's heart beat so quickly that he wanted to throw up. Half of him wanted to believe he had heard incorrectly, that he had misconstrued Eris' conversation … but he knew the truth. Eris was a traitor and a spy, she was informing on Siphon to a third party, a second master, a true allegiance! Tivan had to warn somebody, had to tell somebody what he had learned. He needed to get out of there, he needed to tell Siphon, to tell Thresh.

"When will you arrive on Ziost?"

Tivan stepped slowly back from his corner, tiptoeing to the door even more carefully than when he entered. He grabbed the door, hands shaking, arms quaking in terror, in fear. He needed to get out of there, needed to run.

"The sooner you get here the better, master. I can't guarantee I can - wait. What was that?"

 _Bloody hell._

The automated door expunged a blast of audible steam as Tivan's quivering hands accidentally triggered the release that fully withdrew the sliding door into its vestibule, leaving only an empty hallway separating him from safety. Only a hallway ... and a Sith.

 _He had to flee!_

He took off as fast as he could, sprinting towards the turbolift across the hall. Eris was already in pursuit, had leaped from within her chambers to follow. Her injuries slowed her down, but not by enough. Tivan was only halfway across the hall when Eris reached her door. "Stop!"

Tivan didn't listen; Eris must have been too weak to chase him on foot. Instead, she summoned the Force to try and stop him. He started zigzagging, spending only a fraction of a second to wonder how much like a headless chicken he looked - still, it worked. Eris' attacks slammed harmlessly into the walls, missing him by mere centimeters.

Tivan prayed that one of the other lords would come check out the commotion … but it was the middle of the day. No one came. Most of the Sith were no doubt attending to the day's duties and shifts. He couldn't expect them to save him. Maybe he didn't need them to. He had a chance to escape, a chance to survive!

He reached the turbolift. His hand extended out to jam the button to summon his escape.

But he had to stop to do so. In that second, Eris' Force power connected. Tivan felt something hook into his hand, a supernatural chain, a rope. With one tug, Eris summoned him backwards, sent him flying to her, compelling him away from the lift.

"Let go of me!"

Eris didn't respond.

Even careening through the air, Tivan made one last effort. He shouted into his comlink: "Thresh, I need security- "

But Eris slammed her hands downwards and so too did Tivan's body follow, colliding into the ground, dazing him. Eris didn't stop. She used the Force to pull him backwards, back into her quarters, slamming him against a wall. She shut the door again, still failing to seal it completely. Just a crack, just a sliver. He could still see outside, still had a chance to escape. He just needed to buy time, to come up with a story, to -

"Tivan, are you there? What's the matter?"

Thresh! He had heard his comlink after all. This was his chance, this was -

But Eris must have seen his eyes light up, must have known what had happened. She activated her lightsaber, pointing it straight at his throat. "Tell him everything is fine … or it won't be for you."

She had him cornered. If he tried to warn Thresh, to summon aid … she would be sure to kill him.

"N-nothing, Thresh. Sorry. I … thought I saw something, but it was just a shadow."

Tivan prayed that Thresh could somehow tell from his tone that he was lying. That somehow he might discern that everything had gone wrong.

But he didn't. "Please don't waste my time, Tivan. There's enough going on today without me having to deal with imaginary assailants. Thresh out."

As Thresh signed off, Eris deactivated her lightsaber. Even so, Tivan's breath came in quick and short gasps and his heart felt like it was going to explode out his chest. "Please, I … I didn't hear anything. Don't kill me, I beg you."

Eris considered for a long moment, clearly debating doing exactly that. "How did you get in?"

"The door, it doesn't close properly unless you - I'll show you. Just, please, please don't hurt me," begged Tivan.

"You spy on a Lord of the Sith and you expect to be shown mercy?"

He didn't point out her hypocrisy. How could he? His eyes darted around the room, searching for any chance of freedom, even as his mouth protested, "I … I helped you. I took care of you after that cyborg assassin! After this last attack! You owe me!"

It was a long shot. Most Sith would have laughed in his face at that claim, but there was something about Eris and Siphon. Both of them were anomalies, outliers among the sith hierarchy. Maybe he could appeal to their sense of loyalty, to their sense of honor. With any other Sith, the words would be wasted breath, but with these two … with Eris … maybe, it just might work ...

Finally, she spoke. " … fine. I can show mercy, but you have to swear. Speak a word of this to anyone, and -"

Hope sparked in his heart. She was going to let him live … he was going to make it out of this alive.

Eris paused, then replied into her comlink. "No, master. Yes, I understand."

Tivan looked up at her, eyes pleading.

"I'm sorry, Doctor. This is my duty. I can't risk it."

Hope died.

Eris placed her lightsaber over his breast, over his heart.

The last thing Doctor Garic Tivan saw was a figure, through the crack of Eris' open door, a figure he could only just make out. He wanted to call out to them, to call for help … but the words would not come. Nothing would come, not his voice, not his breath. It was all gone. All lost.

His sight faded to black, even as his chest exploded with crimson light.

* * *

 **END PART ONE**

Writer's Note: And there we have it folks! The end of the first part of False Empire. Please let me know what you thought! Did you find the twists surprising? Did you see them coming from a mile away? Suggestions, criticism, and any comment really are all welcome.

Part Two will take a brief detour with some different characters before we return to Lethe and Sierra's shenanigans.


	16. Interlude 03

**Interlude**

* * *

 _Two Weeks Later_

"Are you sure this course of action is wise, my lord?"

Beral glanced up from her plate across the table to Lord Pallas. A large platter of fried snowscape stalker wings sat between them, but only Beral's plate housed a small mountain of immaculate bones upon it. Lightly battered in a blue-milk based mixture and seasoned with unique Ziost spices and herbs, each wing was fried individually - just long enough so that the meat cooked to perfect tenderness and the batter evoked an exquisite level of crispness. The result was a tasteful indulgence, one that Beral simply had to enjoy at least once every time she came to New Adasta.

She licked her fingers and then dabbed daintily at the corners of her mouth with a red napkin. "I have a very good metabolism."

"That wasn't what I meant," mumbled Pallas. He sighed, hovering his fork gingerly over the platter of wings. Just as he was about to skewer one, Beral darted her hands out to snatch the morsel away from him, offering a conciliatory - and fraudulent - smile in apology.

Pallas blinked, but decided better of commenting on Beral's theft. "What I mean is, while I am of course honored to be graced by your presence, are you not at all concerned that someone could deduce our connection with you present on Ziost?"

"Aware that it's a possibility? Certainly," said Beral. "Concerned? Not particularly. The endgame is fast approaching. Whatever deductions can be made, I've little worry that they can threaten me at this stage."

They sat in the dining chamber of Lord Pallas' meager estate in the Central District of New Adasta. Without Vowrawn nearby as his sponsor, Pallas had quickly lost status among the Sith hierarchy, and had been forced to relocate his powerbase to a miniscule property just a few blocks from the People's Tower. Its proximity to the central Imperial command office was the location's only point of merit. A pitiful ten stories, the estate was literally looked down upon by the rest of the city.

Beral grabbed another stalker wing. It looked like it belonged to a baby - she decided she would devour this one whole. The bones crunched with obstinate protest as Beral's voracious teeth crushed them into sand and marrow.

Pallas hovered his fork over the platter again, glancing to Beral repeatedly. No doubt he was wondering if he should even bother making the attempt.

"If you're not going to eat, you may as well offer your report," suggested Beral.

"Yes … of course," said a resigned Pallas. "The ZLF's activities have grown more brazen. Rumor has it they infiltrated Lord Lector's estate and ransacked it. For what, we have yet to determine. Lector claims nothing was taken, though this attack has become a stain on his reputation. It looks like Marr is holding off on sponsoring his elevation to Darth -"

Beral offered an overly dramatic yawn.

"Er … yes. My agents are also reporting that Darth Nox's apprentice has completed her diplomatic venture to the planet. She met with a total of nine lords of significance on Ziost, including myself, of course."

Pallas beamed with some vestige of old pride. Beral could tell he missed the respect that came with being a trusted lieutenant of a Dark Councillor.

She had no desire to indulge his nostalgia, however. "How quaint. A fallen jedi comes snooping about and a pack of hyenas scramble to pay their respects."

That little snipe did exactly as Beral wanted; the pride drained from Pallas' face, to be replaced by embarrassment. The look did not suit him at all; his flushed cheeks contrasted with his deathlike pallor and gave him the appearance of a sickly clown.

"... tell me what you've learned of Siphon's apprentice, this Lord … Eris, was it?"

Pallas coughed a bit, taking a moment to recompose himself. "Yes, that's correct."

"Well? Spit it out already." Beral demonstrated by spitting out a piece of bone; it landed perfectly at the top of her stalker boneyard.

"Yes, my lord … Eris was originally a slave by the name of Sierra. I tracked her history back several years; before she was in Siphon's service, she served Orthas. Siphon claimed her and the rest of Orthas' slaves as part of her victory in the Kaggath. Actually, Orthas himself acquired her when he slew Darth Miro on the grounds of Miro's own estate. It's still not exactly clear why he would go to the trouble -"

"Indeed," said Beral with a smile. "Miro was a sith of waning influence allied with Siphon, if I remember correctly. It would seem out of character for Orthas to invade Miro's home rather than meet him on the field of battle with Siphon. Unless there was something Orthas wanted from Miro specifically …"

Pallas arched a curious brow. Beral could tell he was starting to suspect she knew more than she was letting on. She rather enjoyed toying with him, teasing him with snippets of her true influence, her true status. She left every meeting with him confident that he was more befuddled than ever.

"Do continue, my friend," instructed Beral, her smile widening to flash her pristinely white teeth.

" … as you wish. The story goes that Sierra was once an apprentice in training on Korriban. She abandoned her training due - according to her - to prejudice from the Overseer at the time, Overseer Harkun. To flee, she stowed away on a supply freighter to Ziost and masqueraded as a slave in order to join Miro's service."

"Neither Miro nor Orthas knew of her connection to the Force?" asked Beral. "I'm not surprised Miro was fooled, but Orthas was clever."

"Sierra was only in Orthas' service for a week or so before Orthas himself was defeated by Siphon at Twinspire Keep."

"That's right," remarked Beral. "How fortunate for her. I'm sure Orthas would have cut her down on the spot if he knew she had abandoned her trials."

" was a strict traditionalist." Pallas paused a second before continuing. "And so I traced Sierra's history back to Korriban … and here's where things get interesting."

Beral selected another wing and bit into it, savoring the taste and feel of the meat as she devoured it. "Do tell."

Pallas smiled, clearly pleased with the results of his investigation. "I was able to locate records concerning a slave called Sierra on Korriban … but only within the last two years. There are no other apprentices that fit her age and description from before then."

It was Beral's turn to arch a curious brow. "Only within the last two years? I thought you said she fled Korriban because of prejudice on the part of Overseer Harkun."

"That's right, my lord ... _Darth Nox killed Harkun almost four years ago."_

And there it was.

"So … her story is fabricated." Beral felt adrenaline flush through her veins, goosebumps splatter her skin, the hair on the back of her neck rise. This was too entertaining. Too delightful. What was this little interloper doing on Ziost, doing with Siphon?

 _Could it be?_

"Shall I inform Siphon of this development?" asked Pallas. "I have it on good authority that Eris was wounded defending her in the attack on her Citadel; she doubtlessly trusts Eris more than ever now. If your goal is to broaden the Darth's paranoia, learning that her most loyal and favored disciple's backstory is a lie would assuredly assist in that prospect."

Beral shook her head. "No. This is a thread I do not want unraveled … yet. But it will likely speed up my timeline."

"My lord?" asked Pallas, desperately inquisitive.

"No matter. What news of Siphon herself? She's had a rough few weeks what with the attack and then Hadrax and Cyriak's little rebellion."

Pallas nodded. "I expect she will be appealing to the Dark Council for aid in settling this revolution, lawless as it is. I'm sure with their backing, Siphon will quash -"

Beral smirked. "While that would make things much simpler, I doubt she will go down that route. She has too much pride for a move like that. It would be tantamount to admitting to the Empire at large that she cannot control the conquests she gained from the Kaggath."

"Simpler, my lord?" Pallas spoke with an air of unhidden curiosity.

"Hmm?"

"You mentioned it would make things simpler if Siphon were to turn to the Dark Council … what did you mean by that?"

Beral chuckled. "Don't worry, my friend. Such concerns are beneath you, I'm sure. You just focus on Ziost, while I make preparations for the next stage."

Pallas didn't look like he believed her, but he did not press the matter. " … as you say, my lord." He hesitated for a long moment before finally mustering the courage to ask, "By the way, I … uh … I believe you made mention that you would be bringing a gift of … a certain pastry for me the last time we spoke?"

Beral donned a mask of heartfelt conciliation. "Oh, my dear Pallas. My deepest apologies … you see, the trip to your estate took longer than expected, and well … I must admit I could not help myself …"

She snapped her fingers and one of her attendants strode into the room, bearing a small box. She took the lid off and presented Pallas with its sole contents … half a madeleine and crumbs that only hinted at what the container once held. "Perhaps your chef can reverse engineer the recipe?" she offered with a helpful smile.

Beral's heart swelled with joy at the look of utter disappointment upon Pallas' face.


	17. Exiles - Chapter 14

_**Part Two: Exiles**_

 **Chapter 14**

* * *

 _Two Months Prior to the Attack on the Citadel - Near Hutt Space_

"Name, Hallian Quen. Human. Female. Age, thirty-one. Hair, Red. Eyes, Gray. 5'5. One hundred and five pou - wait. No, redact that last part."

The computer obliged. Hallie grimaced.

It was an oddly familiar experience, narrating her own holonet dating profile. Still, details like the ones she just listed off to her computer console came more naturally to her as part of the profiling work she did at Imperial Intelligence, and to a lesser extent, the service she provided to Darth Siphon after Intelligence was disbanded. She certainly never expected to hear her own information parroted out by her own mouth for a romantic venture.

"Born in Kaas City. Occupation: free agent. Interested in men. Likes … thoughtful political discourse. Twi'leks. Cheesy Holovids. Dislikes … thoughtful political discourse. Drama. Anything remotely related to Sith."

She paused, glancing out the door to her quarters on her derelict barge. Her room had a clear view of the cockpit where Tosin, her lone companion, looked like he was struggling to fly the ship - not because of any spatial anomalies, but because their rickety barge was probably ready to shatter into a thousand pieces at the slightest disturbance.

Tosin was once Sith. Lord Rend, they called him. They had saved each others' lives fleeing from Darth Siphon's machinations and treachery. Now, they were both on the run. Hunted. Exiled. Without each other, they never would have made it this far.

Maybe not all Sith were bad. "Delete that last part."

Hallie's favorite matchmaking destination on the holonet was called _Star-Crossed,_ a service that catered to a particularly unique subsection of those looking for romance: Imperials looking for love among citizens of the Republic and vice versa. Their front page proudly displayed a female Imperial Intelligence operative swooning in the arms of what was supposed to be a Havoc Squad Trooper. Nevermind that Imperial Intelligence had been disbanded for months now and the Havoc Squad logos on the trooper's armor were all wrong; it was characteristic of the industry to fudge details in the broader name of "romance".

Their neon-pink slogan - _Star-crossed love, across the stars_ \- splashed across every banner in their holonet advertisements. A little heart replaced all the 'o's. Hallie wanted to puke every time she looked at it.

Hallie neither harbored any secret lusts for a Republic trooper or SIS operative - although she did find that their accents oh so charming - nor found the service to be particularly adept at sponsoring long-lasting relationships between supposed Imperial and Republic citizens. She actually sliced their database records on whim one day and found that all the success story testimonials were entirely fabricated. One such tale was particularly egregious:

 _"I met Jace M. on Star-Crossed and I knew immediately we had an instant connection. We chatted for a few weeks, and then he took me on vacation to Nar Shadaa. He told me he was just some low-level accountant, but I later found out he was actually a high-ranking Republic General. How hot is that? Jackpot, am I right? I can't recommend Star-Crossed enough!"_

 _\- Lana B., Age 21_

Nevermind that the aliases were ridiculous and that Lana Beniko wasn't even close to 21 years old. No, Hallie just took a guilty pleasure in examining the profiles of deluded fools who actually thought they could make it work amidst a war that now spanned decades.

Of course, she didn't want to think about why she herself was now signing up. It's not like she expected to start a relationship while on the run.

Who was anybody kidding though. Who would use Star-Crossed to start a relationship?

She scrolled through profiles for few minutes. A few caught her eye, including an older Republic operative that looked like he had actually seen combat; she recognized scars earned from blaster fire. Another profile featured a cathar whose impressive physique and musculature rippled through his fur, drawing all attention away from his otherwise plain-looking face. Hallie's eyes lingered on him for a few moments longer than most.

Then there were the countless chiseled but headless torsos that sent a clear message: romance was the last thing these disembodied people were looking for. Those she dismissed without a second glance. She liked her men to have heads at a minimum; that wasn't being too picky, right?

The next profile forced her to do a double-take. She thought she recognized the red-skinned twi'lek for a second, but no. It wasn't the twi'lek she thought it was. It wasn't the man who had sacrificed his life to save her.

Andora. She thought about him daily.

In retrospect, starting an investigation into her own Sith master's identity was probably not the best idea she ever had. Just as she was about to get the answers she had been looking for, Siphon discovered her efforts and tried to have her killed. If not for Andora, Hallie would doubtless be dead.

If not for Hallie, Andora would probably still be alive.

Hallie glanced out the door to Tosin again. She needed something to distract her from Andora's haunting memory. She had floated the idea of holonet dating to Tosin as an entertaining distraction, but he had looked so horrified at the prospect that she had dropped the suggestion immediately.

That didn't mean she couldn't have a bit of fun with him though.

Her fingers flickered across the console, navigating to a new account setup page. "Name, Tosin … uh …" She grumbled beneath her breath, realizing she didn't actually know his surname. "Rend. Tosin Rend."

"What was that?" asked Tosin from the cockpit.

Blast, the man's hearing was good. "Nothing, Toes! Just trying to catch some sleep before we reach Hutt space."

Tosin sighed. "Please don't call me that."

Hallie snickered to herself, then returned her attention to her console, careful to lower her voice. "Name, Toes Rend. Human. Male. Age, Twenty … seven-ish? Hair, black. Eyes … scary."

He did have those infamous yellow Sith eyes, after all.

"One hundred-eighty pounds. Born … New Adasta? Occupation … starship pilot! Interested in … women? Men? Sure, why not. Likes … brooding. Grimacing. Electro-"

Something flashed on her console. She was receiving a holocom transmission from an unknown sender over an encrypted channel.

But who would know how to contact them?

Hallie answered the holocom; she recognized the figure that appeared instantly.

 _Darth Siphon._

"Good. Finally," the flickering blue image said. Despite all that had happened between them, Siphon's voice still reeked of arrogance and condescension. She looked just as Hallie had last seen her; face burned, hair disheveled, robes in tatters. The only thing missing was her golden mask - that metal disguise that had hidden a dark secret, a secret that Hallie and Tosin had both almost paid for with their lives. And for which Andora sacrificed himself without ever knowing why.

"Summon Lord Rend for me, agent. This concerns both of you." The Darth addressed Hallie as though she still served. As if she would do so again.

Not on her life.

Both Hallie and Tosin had prayed that they would never see the Darth again. They had fled Twinspire together, had secured transport off of Ziost, had almost reached Hutt space ... and yet, their treacherous master stood before her once again.

Unable to control herself, Hallie slammed her hands downwards onto the console to terminate the holocall. Siphon's cerulean figure vanished almost instantly, but it took only a few seconds for the holocom to sound out once more.

Tosin called out again from the cockpit. "What's going on?"

"It's Siphon … she found us."

Tosin ground the ship to a halt; the old freighter they were piloting was so old it didn't have a functioning autopilot. Confident they were no longer in danger of colliding into galactic debris, Tosin bounded into Hallie's quarters, glancing first from Hallie and then to the flashing holocom.. "How the hell did she find us? I thought you masked our trail!"

"I did! I have no idea how she did it … and now she wants to talk. To both of us."

Tosin blinked so rapidly Hallie thought his eyelids would flutter off. "This is some kind of joke right? What could she possibly want to talk about with us?"

Hallie sighed. "Only one way to find out …but … I'd rather not."

Tosin considered for a moment before finally reaching for the holocom controls. " … I think we better see what she wants. The last thing we need is to be ambushed in Imperial space flying this heap of junk."

"I'm saying it now: we are going to regret this decision," grumbled Hallie.

Tosin offered a knowing grimace; his eyes seemed to reflect agreement with that assessment. Still, the shimmering vision of Darth Siphon appeared before them once more. A cold smile lifted the corners of her mouth upwards as she saw Tosin.

"You've come to your senses. Good. I'm glad you didn't keep me waiting. That would have been most … unfortunate."

Every word out of Siphon's mouth made Hallie's skin crawl.

"What do you want, Siphon?" asked Tosin.

"What do I want? Oh, so many things. I want my powerbase back. I want my sister back. And I want my former apprentice and former agent to help me get them back." Siphon twirled a lock of her hair around her finger as she spoke, her eyes wide and her smile crazed. "It's only fitting, don't you think? You two cost me everything I had … it's only fair that you offer me reparations."

"Reparations?" asked Hallie. "You tried to kill us!"

"And you killed my sister. But you don't see me holding a grudge, do you?"

Tosin arched an incredulous brow. "You have your sister. We didn't take her body with us, you did."

"Silly Rend." Siphon launched into a fit of deranged giggles. "All things in good time. First, we have the powerbase to deal with."

"You won the Kaggath," Tosin insisted. "Why do you need our help to claim your own powerbase?"

A cheshire smile spread across Siphon's face. "Haven't you heard? Siphon already claimed her powerbase."

Hallie and Tosin exchanged a look of utter confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Siphon exploded; all pretense of her condescending amusement vanished. "AN IMPOSTOR! AN IMPOSTOR SITS UPON MY THRONE! STEERS THE COURSE OF MY EMPIRE, USURPS THE FRUITS OF MY KAGGATH!"

A silence followed, so long that Hallie wondered if perhaps Siphon's outburst had caused the holocom to malfunction.

"You're insane," Hallie said finally. "Don't contact us again, we want nothing to do with you!"

"What she said," repeated Tosin.

Instantly, Siphon was once again demur, cordial, even … friendly. "No, wait. Please. I need your help … and I am willing to trade something at least one of you will no doubt find most valuable."

"Do I need to remind you that you tried to kill us?" asked Hallie. "What could you possibly have that would make us forget that?!"

Siphon smiled. Then, her image flashed, distorted. Reforming, Hallie almost couldn't believe what she saw. Or rather … who.

Andora.

There was no mistaking it. The Twi'lek's face, his brow, that scar on his neck that Hallie had traced with her fingers a dozen times over … he hung in suspended animation within a kolto tank. He was alive … that much she could tell from the tank's readings. It was all she could see. Hallie couldn't discern enough to recognize any distinctive markings or indicators that would've given her his location. She could only tell that he was beyond her reach.

Unless …

She glanced to Tosin.

"Is that … Andora?" he asked, turning to Hallie. "You said she killed him."

"I thought she did … I didn't think she would let him live after I escaped …"

Hallie's eyes never left the image. Andora. After everything he had done, to feel his arms around her again, to feel his heartbeat in her hand, his breath being drawn beneath her head … After thinking for so long that it was lost to her forever … how she longed for it. How she needed it.

"Hallie, no. This is a trick, a trap. How do we even know he's alive? Those could be false readings, a fake recording, she could be playing us!"

Everything Tosin said was true. It could all be a trick … but she didn't think it was. She didn't want to think it was. This was a chance, just one chance to make things right. To get him back.

"No. I won't fall for your deceptions again, Siphon. Don't contact us again!"

Before Hallie could stop him, Tosin disconnected the holocom.

"It's for the best, Hallie," he said, though he didn't sound quite convinced himself. "We … we should focus on getting to Hutt space."

Hallie didn't have the words to respond.

"I'm going to get us moving again," continued Tosin. "Just … forget this ever happened, okay?"

Hallie nodded her agreement without saying a word and Tosin returned to the cockpit alone. He was clearly disturbed; Hallie didn't blame him. Siphon had almost killed them all, and would have no qualms about killing them now. They had given her ample motive in slaying her sister. She was dangerous, and couldn't be trusted. It wasn't even a question.

But then … why couldn't she delete the communication she had just received over her secure comlink? It was succinct: coordinates for a rendezvous point, coupled only with the words: "When you change your mind."

Hallie didn't like that Siphon was so confident that they would.

But neither could she deny its truth.

* * *

"I've been thinking a lot about Andora recently."

Tosin glanced to Hallie, a forkful of soggy Corellian hair pasta paused halfway from his plate to his mouth before he set it back down. They both sat huddled in the cockpit of their cramped starship, metal trays of barely edible food dancing on their knees as the spacecraft lurched towards Hutt Cartel territory. It was a common sight these days, on the run, barely sc****** by. A far cry from the life of luxury he had enjoyed as Lord Rend, apprentice to a Darth Siphon, in New Adasta.

This was of course, discounting the routine threat of murder that also came with a life of a Darth's apprentice.

So much had changed. Once he would have been humiliated living like this, surviving by the skin of his teeth. He was Sith. He was due prestige, and influence, and respect.

… or was he?

"I know you never liked him." Hallian looked over to Tosin, who promptly glanced away. He wasn't sure what to say; Tosin hadn't given Andora much thought at all since the Kaggath and Siphon's betrayal had taken up most of his attention … at least until Siphon's holocall earlier that day. He usually tried to avoid spending too much thought on the twi'lek. Hallie was right; they had never gotten along, not since they were both apprentices.

Then, there was the fact that their former master was now leveraging Andora's memory to try and coerce them into doing her dirty work again.

Still, the last time they had spoken of the twi'lek was when Hallian revealed that Andora had sacrificed himself to save her. Even if Siphon hadn't been lying about keeping the twi'lek alive, Tosin figured some deference was probably in order.

When he could still feel Hallian's eyes on him after a good minute, Tosin finally forced words out in an effort to break the awkward silence. "He could be ... brash."

The words brought a smile to her lips for some reason. "Yeah. Brash. And a bit of an idiot. And really, if we're going to be honest, the word 'lunatic' might have been appropriate."

Tosin choked on a mouthful of cold and mushy pasta. " ... you said it, not me."

Hallie laughed. "It's true! Everybody thought so. They used to call him Siphon's Wild Card at Ops Command. The running bet was trying to guess how long it would take for him to go off-script and straight up challenge the enemy target to single combat on any given mission."

He smirked. "Sounds like he was perfectly reliable to me. You know, if you wanted a surefire way to sabotage your own missions."

"Did I ever tell you about his duel with Lord Cyriak?" asked Hallie, a glint of eager anticipation twinkling in her eye.

Still wary of what this conversation was leading into, Tosin paused for a moment before asking, "You mean during the Kaggath? Cyriak was one of Orthas,' right?"

"That's the one, but it was years before the Kaggath. This was back right before you both got promoted to Lord. So, Cyriak's already known as an up and coming Sith by this time, but he's even more infamous for traveling with this massive, terrifying akk dog. Like, nobody knew where this thing came from, but it was about twice the size a normal-sized one and had a bite that went through plasteel like butter."

Tosin arched a skeptical brow, but Hallie just shushed him and kept going.

"So Cyriak and Andora get into a scuffle in front of the People's Tower one day. I'm not sure why, they probably glanced at each other and decided the other's face needed immediate corrective surgery. Anyway, Andora challenges Cyriak to a duel. But Cyriak refuses, saying Andora has to get past his akk dog first."

"I can't imagine Andora took that well," Tosin mused.

"Yeah, nooo. Not at all. But the thing is, this akk dog was some kind of mythical beast or something. He bowls Andora over before he can even activate his lightsaber. Same thing second round. Third round, Andora finally gets his lightsaber up and out, but the dog actually swats it out of his hand with its paw and then pins him to the ground until he begs to be let go."

" … you're pulling my leg right? This did not actually happen."

"Nope. Totally happened. There are records in Imperial Intelligence and everything, I had to check."

Tosin leaned forward. "So what happened next?"

"Cyriak decides Andora's not worth killing if he can't even get past the dog. So he lets Andora go, tail tucked between his legs. But then, that night Andora decides to get revenge on the akk dog and on Cyriak. He infiltrates Orthas' estate and makes it all the way to Cyriak's quarters. Except …"

"Except what?"

"Andora sees the dog all tied up, its chains too short for it to reach its food or water. In that moment, something flicks on in Andora, like a light switch or some common decency, or something. He decides to push the dog's food and water close enough so that it can eat and drink. Andora ends up spending the night just making sure the dog's comfortable."

Tosin chuckled. "Of course he's kind to the akk dog. I try to get a hello out of him in the halls and he practically glares my face off."

"He goes back every night for a month, always helping the dog out, always careful to leave no trace that he was there. At the end of that month, he calls Cyriak out to another duel. Cyriak struts out with his akk dog, eager to put Andora in his place again, but when he tells it to attack, the dog just gleefully ambles up to Andora and starts licking him all over."

"At that point," Hallie continued, "Andora doesn't even bother fighting Cyriak. He just takes the dog - literally, just walks off with Cyriak's akk dog - and heads back to Twinspire."

"Wait," said Tosin. "You're not telling me that's how Andora got ahold of Hungry. He stole Hungry from Cyriak?!"

He couldn't help himself; Tosin burst out laughing.

"Yup! That's what he told me anyway. Leave it to Andora to name a dog 'Hungry.'"

Their laughter echoed throughout their entire ship for several minutes. As it finally drew to a close, with Tosin and Hallie both expelling the last vestiges of their merriment in short guffaws and chuckles, Hallie turned back to Tosin and placed her hand on his. Her hand felt warm against his, her touch tentative and yet resolute.

"Toes, I know … I know you don't want anything to do with Siphon. I understand completely. She tried to kill us; there's every chance that once she has what she wants, she'll find some way to dispose of us."

Tosin didn't reply, knowing what he was about to be asked and yet desperately wishing it would not be. Hallie was right. He didn't trust Siphon any more than he trusted he could breathe without air. Anything that had to do with Siphon was a fool's errand, a step taken willingly into a booby trap, a viper's nest, a rancor pit.

"Even so … I have to go. I have to. For Andora. He did the same for me, he sacrificed himself so I could escape. If there's any chance - if there's any sliver of hope that I can get him back - that I can repay what he …"

Their eyes met. Her gray irises held a desperate plea, a promise that while she could do this on her own, she wanted his help. Needed it. The last of his objections faded; if she was determined to poke the rancor, Tosin sure as hell wouldn't let her do it alone.

"She sent us coordinates to meet. I'm going to head there. You don't have to come, but …"

He nodded, almost imperceptible, barely moving his chin ... but it was enough. It was all Hallie needed to understand that Tosin would be at her side.

She embraced him, taking him by surprise, slipping her arms beneath his to wrap around his back; Tosin blinked repeatedly, almost stunned by the gesture. It felt strange to to feel the warmth of another soul pressed against him like this when it wasn't induced by lust or desire, but by gratitude and affection.

Sith weren't big huggers, but he couldn't really call himself Sith anymore. He wrapped his arms around tentatively around Hallie's shoulders; it didn't feel entirely unpleasant. Actually, it felt … nice.

Something tickled Tosin's eye and he blinked repeatedly before it passed. He was glad it wasn't a tear. Whatever else had changed … he still had his pride.

Writer's Note: Part Two of the story was intended to serve both as a bridge to connect the False Sith and the False Empire, as well as one that ties the rest of the story together. As promised, this detour will be relatively quick - we will be back with Lethe and Sierra in just a couple more chapters.


	18. Exiles - Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

* * *

 _One Week Prior to the Attack on the Citadel - Central District Apartment, New Adasta_

"I don't like this," said Tosin.

"You don't like anything," Hallie grumbled to herself.

Both Hallie and Tosin stood behind a seated Siphon in a small, barely furnished studio apartment on the outer edges of New Adasta's Central District. Siphon tapped her feet impatiently, glancing occasionally between the two ceiling vents in the room and the clock that hung across the main entrance. She had cleaned up a bit since their holocall almost two months ago now, her wispy auburn hair now tied into a neat bun behind her head, but Hallie still couldn't quite place her as the mistress she had served for over five years. Without her golden mask, Siphon was all but a stranger.

Her behavior was nothing like Hallie remembered either. Where once the name Siphon inspired an image of a master of cold, calculated manipulation, now Hallie saw only erratic hysteria. More often than not, her words were directed at invisible voices rather than actual living beings. Half the time neither Hallie nor Tosin knew whether Siphon expected a response from them or not. The Darth was entirely unpredictable.

And so, Hallie couldn't exactly disagree with Toes right now, but neither did she need him complaining about their circumstances. Her nerves were frayed enough.

"It's been over an hour," insisted Tosin. "They're either not coming or they're setting a trap for us."

"You're being paranoid, Toes. We just told them that they've been following an impostor. I'm sure they're just trying to verify what they can."

"Quiet," snapped Siphon. "Both of you."

"Let's just make one thing clear," retorted Hallie. "We agreed to help. We never said anything about following your orders. We're not your slaves to be commanded, Siphon. We are temporary allies who share common interests, nothing more."

"Our interests are about to diverge sharply if you don't learn to hold your tongue."

Hallie felt a surge of angry regret at having agreed to Siphon's bargain. "You're joking right? With all the trouble you went through getting us here, there's no way -"

"Shh."

It was Tosin this time. Hallie's ears strained to hear what both Siphon and her friend seemed to sense. Sure enough, half a minute later the Sith Lord Hadrax entered the apartment through the front entrance. She recognized the man from the long braid of raven-black hair that sprouted from the upper back of his otherwise-bald head and hung behind him in an unusually stiff manner. She wondered briefly if the style was held together by the Force.

A cadre of sith pureblood apprentices followed. Hallie glanced to Siphon and Tosin; neither of them made any move to dissuade the newcomers from immediately launching into an inspection of the room, overturning furniture and activating investigation probes to scan for surveillance equipment. Hallie glanced nervously to Tosin before consenting to be examined like a criminal. Her heartbeat quickened ever so slightly. They were outnumbered almost three to one; if it came to a fight ….

One of the apprentices stepped forward to inspect Siphon. She responded by smirking and then flicking her fingers at him. He flew halfway across the room, slamming into the opposite wall with a surprised yelp.

Hadrax laughed. "Perhaps you are the real Siphon."

Siphon leaned back into her seat, somehow managing a regal and imposing projection even from her less-than luxurious surroundings. "Where is Astraad? Where is Cyriak?"

"I didn't feel the need to inform them of your little identity crisis. Whatever you have to say to them, I can pass that information along."

At your discretion, thought Hallie. Hadrax was more cunning than she gave him credit. She had profiled him as one of Orthas' strongest disciples back during the kaggath, but she hadn't pegged him for much of a cerebral thinker.

"My proposal was for all of you," said Siphon. "Summon them here, now. We can wait."

It took all of Hallie's effort not to roll her eyes in exasperation.

"You'll deal with me, _Siphon_ , or no one at all," Hadrax hissed. "I am prepared to inform my illustrious master of your existence right here, right now. So, do you want to keep your element of surprise or not?"

The pureblood pulled out a holocommunicator, unrepentant of his desire demonstrate his treachery.

She could almost hear the fury rise in Siphon's voice. "You dare speak to me in such a fashion?! I am your rightful master by terms of the Kaggath!"

"Rightful master?!" Hadrax's scornful laughter filled the room. "I had one master … his name was Orthas. Only he was worthy of my allegiance. You and your impostor are nothing more than pretenders to a throne, charlatans, playing at power, impure f- hrrkk!"

Siphon's arm shot out, her fingers curling into a fist as she grasped at Hadrax's throat through the Force. Instantly, the pureblood's apprentices seized their lightsabers, pointing them directly at the Darth. Hallie whipped out her blasters, trigger fingers ready to unload a volley of blaster bolts. Tosin leaped over Siphon's seat to stand at her side, his own blade activated and ready to defend her.

"Perhaps you wish to reconsider what you were about to say," hissed Siphon.

Hadrax managed a laugh while still choking, defiant. He sank inch-long nails into the invisible arms that now wrapped around his neck by Siphon's command. He pulled at them, tore at them, conjuring his own power within the Force, summoning his own might to free himself. To Hallie's surprise, he succeeded, shattering Siphon's hold over him. He spat his fury even as he struggled to draw breath. "Go ahead! Kill me if you can! Do you think I'm afraid of you?"

"Siphon." Tosin spoke the Darth's name in warning. He always was more level-headed than most Sith.

Siphon glared at Tosin in response, then whirled back upon Hadrax, reaching out a hand to reinvoke her terrible power. "Perhaps I should indulge your death wish!"

"Do you think I didn't come prepared?" asked Hadrax. "If my compatriots at the Citadel don't hear from me within the hour, your impostor will be notified of your presence and location!"

Hallie cursed beneath her breath. "We can't risk it. Siphon!"

Suddenly, Siphon turned on her, hands rushing towards her, conjuring the Force. Those eyes that pierced her own, at once the horrifying shade of yellow that so made Hallie's skin crawl and yet also a darker shade of crimson. Of fury. Hallie could feel Siphon bear down on her mind, could feel power overwhelm her senses and wrap around her like a rope, a constrictor. Binding her. Choking her.

"YOU WILL ADDRESS ME AS DARTH! YOU WILL PAY ME PROPER _RESPECT!"_

She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. Everything was turning dark, turning black ...

Golden light penetrated the veil of shadows that had layered themselves over her eyes. Tosin's lightsaber - its blade held just under Siphon's throat. "Release her."

A flicker of fear in the Darth's eyes. Even amidst the uncompromising terror, Hallie had enough of her wits left to be surprised at that.

The Darth felt fear. Her words came pouring out from her mouth now, chittering like a womprat, desperate and pleading like Hallie had never heard before.

"The blade, the blade, it's too close, far too close, too near, too insistent! What do I do, how do I stop it, I can't let it touch me! Help me! Help me!"

"Release Hallie _now!_ " insisted Tosin.

Hadrax and his apprentices watched the exchange, enrapt.

And then suddenly, Siphon was herself again, her words purposeful and measured. "Kill me and you will never reach Andora," she said.

"You think I care about that twi'lek?" responded Tosin without missing a beat. "Now, let her go."

For a second, Hallie wondered if Siphon would call Tosin's bluff. Then, she wondered if it was a bluff at all.

Slowly, the Darth released her hold. Hallie crumpled to the floor, gagging, choking, desperate to suck in air through whatever orifice she could manage.

Tosin withdrew his lightsaber's blade into its hilt and Hadrax's apprentices followed suit.

"Strife within the ranks. You're all the same. Master or apprentice, original or impostor. Siphon or her imitation. Insane and pathetic." Hadrax laughed again, still breaking into fits of violent coughing, but filled with as much contempt as ever.

The Darth ignored Hadrax's words, training upon him only to deliver her own. "Soon, I shall reclaim my powerbase. Whether you wish to join me in restoring it to its proper glory, flee and save your own hide, or stand against me and perish … I could not care less."

"Why tell me this then? Why risk treachery if you can seize advantage without us?" asked Hadrax.

"By the terms of the Kaggath, all that Orthas once commanded, I now command. All that Orthas once held, I now hold. That a usurper has stolen from me a kingdom does not change the fact that you are still mine by rights." Siphon shot an imperious glance to Hallie and Tosin before returning her attention to the pureblood standing before her. "I offer this mercy only to ensure that I do not destroy an empire in retaking a throne."

"And if I turn around and inform the usurper of your plans?"

Hallie watched as Siphon smiled once again, mocking and cruel. "Then you will have made your choice. But do not think for one moment that such an act will save you from my wrath. You have tasted my power … my impostor's skill is but a shadow of my own."

"Perhaps you do not know your impostor as well as you think you do," said Hadrax.

"I trained Lord Lethe personally, little Sith. I know her better than she knows herself. I know her strengths, her talents … her limits. She might be able to feign my gravitas, she might be able to don my mask, but she is my lesser in every other way."

 _Lord Lethe._ Hallie shared a surprised glance with Tosin. Hallie had always liked that particular Sith lord; the dark-skinned human woman had been like a quiet sister during their time serving Siphon. She had always been more reserved than most Sith; Hallie couldn't picture her making so bold a move as to masquerade as their former master. She could tell from Tosin's expression that he too had not expected this revelation.

"Lethe …" hissed Hadrax. "I remember her. She was never impressive on the battlefield. And now she presumes to think she can lead Orthas' legacy? That she can lead me?!"

"The audacity is astounding, isn't it?" Siphon commiserated.

Hadrax considered for a long moment. "And if we join you? How do we know your little coup will succeed?"

Siphon's voice turned deathly low. "Not a coup. A reclamation. A _restoration._ And I already explained that Lethe is no match for me."

"Your impostor still has the whole of the Citadel and Twinspire Keep at her command. You have two pawns and one isn't even Force-sensitive. Even united with Astraad, Cyriak and myself, our following cannot expect to take down two fortresses."

"Such little faith. Twinspire is under General Ravain's command. He is already making preparations to turn that fortress back over to me. As for the Citadel ..."

Siphon snapped her fingers, chuckling. Suddenly the two plasteel vent covers exploded outwards; one slammed into one of Hadrax's apprentices, too slow to dodge. Out poured cyborg after cyborg, their cybernetic limbs screeching against the metal of the grates, slamming into the apartment floor with intensive weight, each bearing curiously familiar markings upon their helmets.

"What is this?" asked Tosin, stunned. " … these are ... Vandal Pike."

He was right. Vandal Pike: another ghost from the Kaggath that was supposed to be dead. Hallie and Tosin had discovered hundreds of dead clones made in his image. Siphon must've been preparing these weaponized corpses for months, stashing them in this apartment. Is this what the Darth had vanished from the Kaggath to handle? But then, why did she need to abandon the battlefield and go into hiding to do this? Would Siphon really have risked the Kaggath for these half-machine, half-human abominations?

Six, seven, eight of the monstrosities shot out from the vents like cannons. Although compact while lying in wait, they now stretched to their full height, towering above them all. Each carried their own lightsaber.

"Disarm," commanded Siphon.

Before anyone could react, the cyborgs disarmed all of Hadrax's apprentices. The entire room fell into stunned silence, save for the Darth's cold, haughty laughter. She turned backward to Hallie and Tosin for a moment. "Your discovery of that 'bounty hunter's' warehouse was most rewarding. You'll note I've made some very effective modifications."

"They are … impressive," conceded Hadrax.

"You have all the evidence you need," said Siphon. "My impostor's downfall is all but assured. Her defeat is imminent. Any who remain in her service will share her fate. All who join me will know mercy." The Darth extended her hand and the cyborgs offered the stolen weapons back to their owners.

The apprentices glanced to Hadrax, who nodded, before they gingerly accepted their own weapons back. Hadrax stood up slowly, adjusting his long braid back into position before speaking. "You've convinced me. I will communicate your message to allies that can be reasoned with. They will not pleased at being duped by this Lord Lethe. I'm sure I can convince them to fall in line."

"Then we have an understanding," said Siphon.

Hadrax said nothing, merely returning the expression with his own; it looked like it was the first time the pureblood had ever smiled. Hallie had to hide a wince at how awkward and disingenuous it looked. "How will we know when the time is right to strike?"

Hallie received a knowing glance from Siphon. She coughed a bit, voice still hoarse, before speaking: "We understand your false master is entertaining a disciple of Darth Nox at the Citadel soon."

She withdrew a small datapad from her jacket and handed it to Hadrax. "I believe that meeting needs to be rescheduled."

Hallie glanced to Siphon and watched her as she smiled wide, her eyes crazed, tinted with desire, ambition, vengeance. Hadrax glanced from the datapad to Siphon and then back again.

As Hadrax and Siphon began going over the details of their attack plan, Hallie retreated into her mind. There, it was safest. Absent cyborgs and sith apprentices and treacherous former masters. There, Andora was just a step away from being in her arms again, her heart just an arm's length from being freed of the guilt that bore down on her everytime she crossed a red-skinned twi'lek's path. If they could only complete this next stage, everything would be right again.

Her fingers touched her neck, where Siphon had threatened to crush her windpipe not ten minutes prior. It was still sore - she was sure it would be properly bruised within the next few hours.

She watched as Tosin folded his arms across his chest, clearly unhappy with the situation, eyes scanning the room filled now with sith apprentices and cyborg assassins. Hallie could guess the thoughts that were probably swimming through Tosin's mind head: that this was getting way too dangerous, that they were putting too much trust in Hadrax and the cyborgs, that they risked entirely too much on Siphon's increasingly erratic behavior.

It all came down to one question.

… what other choice did they have?

* * *

Tosin couldn't shake the feeling that they were about to step into a cataclysmic catastrophe.

Chilled moonlight poured in from the apartment's singular window, bathing the miniscule room in shades of cerulean and indigo. The already-dim ceiling lights periodically flickered on and off - a rolling power outage seemed to have struck the city. Tosin could see neighboring buildings outside suffer similar flashes of light followed by consuming darkness that they did. Absent illumination, New Adasta seemed particularly eerie at night: the crag that sheltered the Central District looked an ominous maw of some gigantic creature intended to swallow the city whole.

Hadrax had left with his apprentices over an hour ago. Siphon had taken the cyborgs, no doubt to stage them in preparation for their assault on Orthas' Citadel - now the Impostor's Citadel. Only Tosin and Hallie remained in the apartment, mulling the consequences of their decision to once again throw themselves in line with a mistress that cared more about her own personal power and prestige than the Empire at large.

Regret washed over him like a cold deluge, standing up all the hair on his body.

 _What did we get ourselves into?_

Hallie gingerly rubbed her throat. Siphon's outburst had been no misplaced jest - if Tosin hadn't stepped in, he had no doubt that Hallie - and Hadrax - would be dead. " … are you alright?" he asked.

She nodded, a little too emphatically to be truthful.

"You don't have to pretend, Hallie."

"I'm fine, Toes. Don't worry about me. We need to focus on the mission."

She was as stubborn as he was. "It's not too late for us to back out. Say the word and I'll get us out of here."

"No," said Hallie, her voice like steel. "I abandoned Andora once, I'm not going to do it again. And Siphon is our only chance to reach him."

Tosin wasn't so easily dissuaded. "Hallie, she's unstable! You've seen it, felt it firsthand - she's losing her mind; how can we trust anything she says?"

"You don't have to stay. I can finish this on my own." She looked away, glancing out the window to stare at Ziost's two moons.

"Don't be stupid! Do you think I'm going to leave you alone with that psychopath?"

"You don't owe me anything. Whatever we did for each other, we've paid each other back a thousand times over. I know you don't care about Andora, you shouldn't -"

He grabbed her shoulders with his hands, forcing her to look at him, into his eyes. "Hallie. Enough. I'm not doing this for him. Whether we've paid each other back is irrelevant. We've come this far together, I'm not just going to leave you."

She nodded, glancing back to the moons in the night sky. Tosin followed her gaze; both were waxing, one at its peak, the other at its nascence. Dancers in the sky, pulling at each other, tugging, beckoning the other to follow.

"... we don't have a choice then," said Hallie finally. "Without her, I wouldn't even know where to begin looking. Wherever she has Andora stashed, we need her to find him."

Tosin sighed. He never expected to sway her from this course of folly, but he had to try anyway.

"Do you think her plan can work?" asked Hallie.

"Lethe was formidable … but she was never a match for Siphon. If the cyborgs can occupy the rest of her forces at the Citadel and if you can prevent Lethe from receiving reinforcements, we might just be able to overpower her and her personal guards with our new allies."

"That's a lot of 'ifs,'" said Hallie.

Tosin couldn't disagree with that assessment. The plan was a haphazard one, shoddily-assembled. No amount of persuasion had been able to deter Siphon from her course of action, however. The Darth seemed oblivious to any concerns but her own, and Tosin had noticed on more than one occasion that his former master seemed fixated to the point of obsession on seizing the Citadel.

Then, there was the totally incomprehensible behavior. Something had happened to the Darth - perhaps the death of her sister had driven her mad. He prayed that was not the case; Siphon's sister was dead at his hands.

The power went out again, this time completely. Tosin peered out the window; only the twin moons offered any source of illumination now.

The sound of metal colliding with the durasteel floors sounded out from behind him. "Hells," muttered Hallie.

"What's wrong?" Tosin heard his companion fall to the ground in search of something.

"I dropped my comlink. Blast it … what the hell is happening with the power grid?"

Tosin shook his head, realizing too late that Hallie couldn't see him in the dark. "There've been reports of strange incidents all over the city lately. Heard it on one of the Holonet talk shows playing at the spaceport."

Hallie wasn't listening. Tosin heard her knock into the singular table in the room with an 'oof!'.

"Hey, Toes? Help a girl out? Can you get a spark going for a bit?"

"Yeah, okay." He pulled out his hand and channeled the Force, intending to summon just a small surge of electricity to illuminate the room.

Nothing happened.

"Uh … it doesn't usually take this long, does it?" asked Hallie.

His heartbeat quickened. "No, it doesn't." He tried again.

Still, _nothing._

Something tickled his eyes, like flashes of rapidly changing holonet channels. The experience was familiar and yet eerie, amplified by his failed attempt to bend the Force to his will.

Something was wrong.

"Toes?" asked Hallie again.

He ignored her, racing to the lavatory and shutting the door. There, he steeled his resolve, channeling his fear, anxiety, worry into the Force. In one hand, he summoned a surge of cold, blue lightning. _Finally._ It was just a cerulean spark that danced from finger to finger, held in place by his will, brought to life by his desire. Enough to prove the power was still his.

His eyes stopped fluttering. He lifted his hand to the mirror in the restroom, careful to keep the electricity contained, peering close to look at the irises - shrouded in darkness and illuminated only by his conjuring, he could not tell if they looked different.

He could only tell they _felt_ different.

"Is everything alright?"

"Fine. I'll be right out." Tosin forced his voice to be calm, though inside, he felt only panic. What was happening? Why did such a small spark pose such difficulty? His specialty had always been the manipulation of electricity … what use was he, if he did not have that?

"Nevermind, the power's back," said Hallie. "You sure you're okay? You don't have the runs or something, do you?"

Tosin managed a chuckle. "No, I don't. I'm fine, Hallie. I'll be out in a minute."

He hit the lavatory lights, and sure enough, they came back on. With a fair bit of hesitation, he released the electric charge from his hands. Concentrating, he conjured the Force again. It came naturally this time, blue and indigo sparks that crackled from his fingers. He summoned them over and over, and again and again, a dozen times, with ease. The power bowed to his will once more, supplicated at his whim. Once more he peered at his eyes in the mirror, stretching open his eyelids with his finger and thumb. They looked … normal: Warm ochre irises, touched by a faint spark of brilliant gold.

Perhaps it was just a fluke earlier. An anomaly ... an outlier. Nothing to be concerned about after all.

Or so he told himself. So he wanted to believe.


	19. Exiles - Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

* * *

 _10 Minutes Before the Attack On the Citadel_

" … the recent spate of power outages that have wracked New Adasta have been confirmed by Sith Intelligence to be the work of the Ziost Liberation Front, Adasta Daily News has learned exclusively."

Hallie tapped her datapad to increase the volume; it was hard to hear the news report over the roar of the occasional passing speeder engine. She had parked on an empty landing pad connected to a skyscraper neighboring the Citadel. Unfortunately, it was still early enough in the day that commuters could still be found taking shortcuts on their way home, resulting in a the occasional roar of engines that sharply pierced the constant rumbling din that filled New Adasta.

Listening to the news always calmed her down, and she needed her nerves to settle for what was coming next. The ADN anchorwoman projected an appearance of seasoned professionalism, though Hallie had never seen her on that particular network before. Must be a new hire, Hallie thought to herself.

The report continued. "In what analysts have deemed an unusual move for the seditionist organization, known ZLF representatives have disclaimed responsibility for these and other recent attacks. Minister Beniko of Sith Intelligence could not be reached for comment, but Agent Rane Kovach issued the following statement in response."

An image of Agent Kovach occupied Hallie's datapad. The man looked remarkably young to be the Minister's right hand, though Hallie thought she saw a hint of cybernetic implants on the man's head. He spoke, calmly; Hallie couldn't quite place the accent.

 _Make no mistake. While the cowards of the ZLF may continue to deny responsibility for these craven assaults on the people of Ziost, the evidence shows otherwise. Sith Intelligence is coordinating with local Imperial military to ensure these attacks are stopped and all responsible parties are brought to swift and true justice._

The anchorwoman resumed prominence on Hallie's datapad. "Agent Kovach goes on to assure New Adasta's citizens that the Ziost Liberation Front will soon be quashed. Whether or not that is another empty promise, remains to be -"

"- Hallie, we're about to make contact. Are you ready on your end?" asked Tosin over comlink.

 _Was it time already?_

"Siphon's already infiltrated the Citadel and planted the data spike I gave her into the security network," replied Hallie. "As soon as you've got Lethe cornered, I'll disable communications throughout the stronghold. I'll have cameras on you as well, just say the word. If things go south, I'll be ready to provide evac."

"Good. Any word on Hadrax and Cyriak's end?"

"They're on their way to Twinspire," said Hallie. "They'll coordinate with General Ravain once they get there - if Lethe has earned any loyalists at the Keep, they'll take care of them."

"And the cyborgs?"

"In position. We'll move once you give the signal."

Tosin let loose a long breath. " … wish me luck."

"I would, but I think I need to save mine for myself."

Tosin chortled at that. Hallie grinned to herself. It was a rare moment of levity for them nowadays. Between dealing with Siphon and working to ensure they would make it out of this mission alive, there hadn't been much time or mood for humor.

"I think I'm going to need it," admitted Tosin after a short pause. "I don't know where Siphon found this 'Tava', but she's either terrified of what we're about to ask her to do, or she's terrified of being around me." A jolt of static punctuated the feedback for a second. "Ah, hells -"

"Well, we _are_ asking her to impersonate Ashara Zavros - that's probably a crime punishable by execution," Hallie mused.

" … Hallie …"

"Or maybe it's the fact that we're asking her to walk into a deathtrap and likely cataclysmic battle between two very powerful Sith."

"Blast it, how do I -"

"Or you know, maybe the fact that Siphon is - as you would say - a complete and utter lunatic that would literally have us all murdered on whim if it suited her fancy -"

"Hallie! You're on speaker!"

Hallie gulped. So that's what that quakey, quivery, terrified mewling in the background was. "Oh … yeah, sorry. I was just … kidding! Totally joking. Nothing to worry about here, this mission's going to be a piece of Kaas cake!"

"Well, I'm sure Tava's feeling much better now." The sarcasm literally dripped from Tosin's voice.

"Why am I on speaker anyway?" asked Hallie, not bothering to hide the fair bit of indignation in her tone.

It was Tosin's turn to gulp. "I uh … accidentally turned it on. And then I couldn't figure out how to turn it off."

Hallie guffawed. "Holy hells, Toes! What century are you living in? I think it's about time to figure out how to use basic communications equipment, don't you?"

"Hey, technological savviness was never on the curriculum at the Acad - wait." A long pause. "I'm receiving the signal from Siphon. She's ready. Engaging operation. Approaching landing pad."

"We can do this," said Hallie.

She wasn't sure who she was trying to to reassure: Tosin and Tava, or herself.

Hallie tapped into the Citadel's security camera feed and brought it up on her datapad. The dataspike Siphon had planted served its purpose; it gave Hallie free access while masking her presence within the Citadel's security grid. Now she could see everything from both within and without the stronghold. Most of the footage was exceedingly mundane, although she did spot a pair of pureblood sith carrying on what looked to be a clandestine affair in the apprentice dormitories.

She returned her attention to the landing pad Tosin had just reached. Sure enough, a fully-hooded Tosin had landed their speeder with a similarly-dressed "Ashara" and cyborg. They were escorted inside by a contingent of Lethe's guards. Hallie brought up the turbolift camera feed; the group headed to the top of the Citadel at a frustratingly slow pace. She tapped into the audio playback, though it soon became clear that an awkward silence had gripped the entire procession.

A few of the guards peered at 'Ashara,' with no small amount of curiosity; they doubtlessly expected something different from the personal disciple to Darth Nox.

Hallie felt a surge of sympathy for the togruta girl. She didn't know where Siphon had found her and hadn't asked, but Tava - or so Siphon had introduced her - had seemed terrified from the minute they met. Hallie had hoped for someone a little bit more calm - perhaps an actress who could imitate the real Ashara Zavros' mannerisms - but beggars couldn't be choosers. This was all they could make do with on short notice.

Something else caught her eye. She redirected the camera footage to the main entrance at the lowest levels of the Citadel, where a second speeder had just landed. A pureblood Sith exited and approached the front entrance; he looked very familiar, although Hallie couldn't quite remember why. His face scratched at a buried segment of her memory. In the place of his right eye, a cybernetic ocular prosthesis took shelter. A long, vertical scar fell from that eye to his jaw.

Hallie had known most Sith to wear their emotions on their sleeves - particularly their anger - but this pureblood seemed a blank slate, a picture of indifference, save for his expression. Even through the videofeed, she could almost feel the derision that partnered with his gaze.

Was he one of Hadrax's? If so, what was he doing? This wasn't part of the plan.

Lethe's guards at the doorway stopped him. He couldn't be Hadrax's then, or any of the Sith from within the Citadel - they would have just let him through. Was Lethe receiving another visitor? This hadn't been on the schedule for the day - at least, not according to the timetables distributed within the security network.

Hallie switched over the audio feed to the new arrival. " … I understand that Darth Siphon is receiving a guest today. I would like to offer my services."

The man's voice chilled Hallie to the core. It was so … _cold,_ like ice, devoid of any humanity or empathy. She got the sense that this was the sort of man who would simply watch as another person caught on fire and burned to death.

The guards seemed skeptical. "What did you say your name- " one of them asked, before the pureblood cut him off.

"You won't bar my way. I wouldn't want your master to be denied my services and then find out you were the one who was responsible."

The guards hesitated, glancing to each other. Then, one of them reached for his ear to activate his comlink.

 _Hells._

She only had a split second to think. Whoever this man was, he was a third party not affiliated with Siphon or Lethe's faction of the powerbase. She had no idea what his intentions were or what he would do in the face of Siphon's coup. Better that she deny him access now, lest he become a problem for them later on.

As her eyes darted to verify that Tosin and Tava had reached the throne room, her fingers danced across her datapad, accessing the data spike that Siphon had planted and slicing into the Citadel's communications relay. A dozen key presses later and the entire communications network within the stronghold came crashing down.

"Sentinel One to Security Command, we have an unscheduled guest requesting entry."

No response came. Hallie loosed a relieved sigh.

"Sentinel One to Security Command, respond."

"No matter," said the pureblood. "I can be patient."

Hallie switched the audio-feed back to the throne room, glad to no longer have to hear the strange pureblood's voice any longer. She magnified the video feed on her datapad with two fingers; Tosin had already reached Lethe's throne along with Ashara and their cyborg lackey. She could detect Siphon's com signal as well, though her Sith sorcery masked her presence from normal sight. Lethe herself sat upon her usurped throne with Lord Astraad and a female apprentice Hallie had never seen before standing to both her sides.

Tosin spoke with a remarkable degree of calm. _"Darth Siphon. May I present Lady Ashara Zavros, disciple to Darth Nox, Keeper of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge."_

That was the signal. Hallie gunned her speeder, weaving violently through traffic in order to reach a second landing pad connected to the Citadel. As she set her speeder down, she noted durasteel lampposts lining the entire walkway from the pad to the doors to the stronghold. Two confused looking guards approached, aiming blaster rifles straight at her.

"You're not cleared for landing!" one of them shouted. "State your business or move along!"

Audiofeed continued to broadcast from within the throne room. _"What is the meaning of this? What's going on? Why do you not speak?"_

Her fingers danced once more on her datapad, sending the signal to the ambush they had arranged to lie in wait near the main entrance. Almost immediately, she heard the sound of multiple explosions emanate in the distance underneath, hundreds of meters below. The cyborgs had begun their assault.

"The hell is going on?! Get Security Command!" shouted one of the guards.

Lethe's voice emanated from Hallie's datapad with a chilling familiarity, distorted by the modulator that could only have come from Siphon's stolen mask. _"You dare to impersonate the disciple to Darth Nox?! Speak! Identify yourselves!"_

"No response! They've cut the comms!"

The guard closest to Hallie trained his rifle on her speeder once more. "Exit your vehicle with your hands up, _now!"_

"Alright, alright!" conceded Hallie. "It's rude to yell at guests, you know." She slowly pulled herself up over the side of her ride, hands up, walking toward the nearest guard.

As soon as they were close enough, the guard reached out to seize Hallie's forearm and pull it behind her back. Hallie reacted immediately. She swung her arm downward in a counterclockwise circle, breaking free of his grip, eliciting a surprised yelp from her assailant. She followed-through with the motion of her body, leveraging his loss of balance to prop him in front of her, using his body as a shield. A hail of blaster bolts fired by the other guard slammed into her prisoner's chest. Hallie dropped the now-unmoving body before somersaulting behind one of the landing pad lampposts for cover.

"That's some _cold_ friendly fire there, buddy!"

"Come in, Security Command! I need backup on landing pad Delta!"

Hallie risked a quick wave. "Hey there, hello! In case you haven't noticed yet, I've disabled your comms. You know, just an FYI."

Another series of explosions sounded out from underneath them. Hallie whipped out one of her blaster pistols and a shock grenade, lobbing the latter over her shoulder and watched as it rolled behind the remaining guard. She had hoped it would disable him, but the guard's reflexes were good; he jumped forward past the blast radius. Hallie fired a quick volley of blaster bolts, but none hit their target - she cursed herself for not spending enough time at the shooting range.

The guard leaped behind a lamppost of his own. Hallie swore beneath her breath. She couldn't waste time trading blaster fire in a stalemate with him.

She would have to risk a bold move.

She rolled her last stun grenade towards the guard's position; it slowed to a stop just behind him. The guard somersaulted forward, looking back instinctively to ensure he had cleared the blast radius - but Hallie was ready. She began charging forward even before the grenade had finished moving. By the time he turned his head back around, it was too late. Hallie spun forward to deliver a devastating bolley kick that slammed her heel right into his face; the guard's head bounced against the metallic floor with a painful-sounding thud.

With both guards out of commission, Hallie raced back to her speeder and pulled out two electric stun-charges from the trunk, then bounded towards the double doors that separated the interior of the Citadel from the chaos that had just taken place on the landing pad. Working as quickly as she could, she armed the explosives on both sides of the door and set them for remote detonation.

Just as she was about to race back to the speeder, she heard Tava scream, sounding out from just past the doors. Hallie manually overrode the release locks and the togruta girl came dashing outwards, just as planned.

"Get into the speeder and take cover!" shouted Hallie, though she suspected Tava needed no encouragement. Hallie wasted no time following suit and soon heard a thunderous echo of running footsteps come from behind them - no doubt in pursuit of the Zavros impostor.

"Seize her! Don't let her get away!" Blaster fire roared after them, though none of the bolts found their mark.

Hallie reached the speeder, vaulting over the side and ducking down before activating the remote detonator.

Electric current exploded from around the doors, catching all of their pursuers in writhing tendrils of incapacitating sparks. One by one, Siphon's guards collapsed into unmoving heaps.

"C-can we leave n-now?" asked a terrified Tava.

"Hold on." Hallie brought up her datapad once more; she meant to turn directly to the throne room footage, but something else demanded her attention. A slight distortion among one of the video feeds caused her to do a double take. Upon examining the video playback carefully, she realized that someone had sliced the turbolift feeds to loop an empty sequence of time. Someone that was not her.

 _Someone else was performing an operation in the Citadel._

Hallie swore and Tava cringed beside her. She shot the togruta girl an annoyed glare before returning to the camera feeds. Who else had designs on the Citadel? Her fingers launched into a flurry of activity as she sliced the hack, undoing the time loop and restoring the true video capture of the turbolift. It wasn't empty.

The pureblood from earlier at the main gate ... somehow he had managed to sneak into the Citadel - no doubt amidst the confusion of the cyborg attack - and was now riding the turbolift up … to where?

She glanced to the feed coming in from the throne room - Tosin, Siphon, and the cyborg had dispatched a retinue of sith apprentices, but Lethe, Astraad, and the female sith still remained standing. It looked like they were in some sort of standoff - actually no, it looked like Siphon was pontificating.

Typical. Some things about that woman would never change.

Hallie's attention refocused on the mysteriously familiar pureblood sith. The turbolift stopped at the top floor - Lethe's quarters. What the hell was this man doing? With comms down and the Citadel in a panic, the man practically had free reign within the stronghold's hallways, even the corridor leading to Lethe's own private chambers. She watched as the man stepped off the turbolift - and then vanished.

It wasn't just the turbolift cameras he had hacked. He even sliced the cameras on the floor leading to the chambers of the Citadel's mistress.

 _"Allow me to answer with my lightsaber!"_

Hallie glanced back again. Astraad had launched into combat; the throne room exploded with activity. She could barely track the combatants' movements, things were happening so quickly. Lethe and Rend traded Force attacks, while the female sith apprentice struggled against the cyborg Vandal Pike. Siphon and Astraad squared off, alternating between trying to blast each other with surges of Force power and trying to carve each other in half with their lightsabers.

Below, the cyborg ambush had sent most of the Citadel's defenders swarming to the main entrance. The cyborgs were deadly, taking down a half-dozen soldiers for each that was destroyed, but even so, they didn't have the numbers to press the attack for long. If the cyborgs couldn't hold the Lethe's forces for long enough, eventually, they would reinforce Lethe at the throne room … and that would spell certain doom for them all.

Half a minute later, Hallie had undone the hack on the security cameras on Lethe's floor. She watched the pureblood closely, glued to her datapad, quietly wishing she could switch the audio feed as well, but she couldn't risk missing critical information on the battle in the throne room. She had to content herself with watching. The pureblood pulled out what looked like a miniature pyramid, floating in the air of its own accord - or so it seemed. It began vibrating, emanating energy in waves, distorting the video feed.

The pureblood walked up to the doors to Lethe's quarters, palms open, as though ready to catch the curious relic that levitated just above his hands. The relic reached the door, but didn't stop, didn't wait for it to open - it crashed into the durasteel, pressed itself into the gate, tried to pierce the metal on its own, as though it could dig a way through. The pureblood frowned slightly, examining the doorway. He activated the nearby door release console, but it requested a password that he clearly did not know.

Balked, the pureblood turned away for a moment, looking pensive as he clutched a lightsaber tied to his belt. Hallie knew instinctively what he was pondering: if he should risk boring a hole into Lethe's personal chambers.

She glanced back at the throne room feed; her heart leaped into her mouth.

Astraad was down, but Pike's cyborg had been compacted into a pathetic heap of scrap metal. Both the female sith apprentice and Siphon were screaming, clutching at their faces, their eyes bleeding torrents of blood. Lethe's form was the only one that stood upright, conjuring power, compelling victory. Where was Tosin? Why couldn't Hallie see him?! Tosin was -

A surge of lightning slammed into Lethe's mask and Hallie watched in horror as the sheer power behind the blast started to melt the golden metal onto Lethe's face. A blood-curdling scream loosed from her datapad, evoking Lethe's agony and rage even from this distance. Tava buried her ears in her hands.

 _What the hell happened?!_ The battle was careening out of control. She had to get over there.

Right on cue, Tosin's voice rang out from her datapad, "Hallie, we need evac at the western wall, _now!"_

Hallie forcibly assisted Tava into the backseat while she assumed the wheel; she gunned the speeder, racing it forward to approach the throne room; Tosin had already blasted a giant whole in the transparisteel window that surrounded nearly the entire level. Hallie lined up her speeder just beneath the hole. Seconds later, Siphon's body came crashing down on top of Tava. Tosin jumped straight into the front passenger seat.

"Go! Go! Get us out of here!"

Hallie didn't bother looking back.


	20. Exiles - Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

* * *

 _Two Hours After the Attack on the Citadel, Near Twinspire Keep_

This wasn't what was supposed to happen. They were supposed to seize the Citadel, to capture it, to reclaim it for the real Siphon. The victory would earn them their desire. They were supposed to have Andora's location from her, to have finally parted ways and escaped their former master's clutches.

They were supposed to be free. Instead, they were beaten. Their cyborg ambush neutralized. Their attempt on Lethe's life a failure.

And now they all fled together, defeated.

"What the hell happened back there?" asked Hallie.

Tosin wasn't sure himself. One minute everything was going according to plan … and then …

"Lord Rend has lost his touch," hissed Siphon, fury unhidden in her voice.

"Don't call me that," snapped Tosin. "I haven't been Lord Rend since you tried to kill me."

Siphons scoffed. "Idiot child! You're concerned about names when it's your power that you should be worried about. Don't think I didn't notice; you are losing your connection to the Force."

His former master's words struck his core with chilling precision. Again, the lightning had failed to come. In that first crucial moment against Lethe, the storm of electricity he had summoned dissipated in his hands before he could unleash it, disobeyed his commands, rejected his direction. What was happening to him? Why was this happening?

"Peace is a lie," said Siphon. "There is only passion. You've lost yours, Rend. Your chains are circling around you, binding you, tearing from you your power, your freedom! Are you so foolish that you can't even see that? Your failure cost us this battle!"

"You're the one that said you were more than a match for Lethe," Tosin retorted. "It looked very much like she had the upper hand."

"That cheat! That faker! False sith, impostor, usurper! She couldn't have defeated me. I am her superior in every way!"

Hallie looked like she was about to snap back but thought better of it. She hadn't forgotten their exchange a week ago, clearly. No matter. Tosin wouldn't let Siphon's false bravado stand in the way of reality for either of them any longer. "Superior? She had you kneeling at her feet! If it wasn't for me, only one Siphon would have walked away from that battle, _and it wouldn't have been you."_

He half-expected his former master to throw him out of the speeder - or at least to try - but instead she launched into another crazed and indiscernible rant. The blood still drying on her face only magnified the sense of instability that emanated from her.

"Siphon, Siphon, two there were, and then but one, but now two there are again. Two, but one is false. Two were false, but now one is true and not the other. But which one, which one? Which Siphon, who is the impostor?"

Siphon turned to Tava. " … is it me?"

The togruta girl shrank into her seat as far as she could.

The woman was mad. Tosin had enough.

"Tell us where Andora is. We did as you asked, we helped you in your foolhardy plan. Honor the terms of your bargain and give us his location."

Hallie glanced over to him, shocked, before returning her attention to piloting the speeder, ears perking to hear Siphon's answer.

"Bargain, a bargain was struck. Struck so that you would know the twi'lek's location, know that he is alive. But the bargain is not done, the bargain is incomplete, the terms are not fulfilled. I …"

And suddenly, the psychotic rant was over. "Your part of our agreement is not fulfilled until I retake all that was stolen from me. Agent Quen, continue on course to Twinspire. Perhaps General Ravain had better luck than we did."

"You have Hadrax and Cyriak now," he insisted. "You don't need us. Tell us where Andora is and we go our separate ways."

"Take me to Twinspire," said Siphon. She didn't say more. Hallie glanced to Tosin, clearly waiting for instructions. He debated threatening Siphon for the information they sought, but with his powers in the state they were, he was not certain he would not emerge the victor against his former master, even with the injuries she had sustained.

He nodded to Hallie, and they continued on course.

Twinspire Keep was located half a day's speeder ride from the edges of New Adasta's southern border, separated only by vast, snowy plains only occasionally disturbed by towering rock outcroppings. From above, the formations looked like dessicated pimples, sullying otherwise pristinely white landscape. Tosin had heard that from Hallie; the first time she said it, his drink snorted out from his nose.

They were almost at their destination already; Twinspire had been the only logical decision after their failure at the Citadel. The ride was almost entirely silent save for Tava's would have found the togruta's mewling aggravating just a few months ago, but now he felt only sympathy. The longer they stayed with Siphon, the more innocent souls they would drag into her conflict. How much more could they sacrifice for one twi'lek?

A few times Hallie had looked like she wanted to say something, but then stopped herself. He didn't blame her; he wouldn't want to share anything with Siphon right behind them either.

He stopped short of answering that question. For him, it wasn't about Andora at all. He had made a promise to Hallie. After everything she had done for him … could he really betray that?

" … the Holocrons," said Siphon suddenly. "She's unlocked their power …"

Hallie glanced backwards, echoing Tosin's thoughts. "What are you talking about?"

"Simpletons! _The Holocrons of Ancient Sorcery._ It's the only explanation. She's somehow managed to unseal their power, their ancient and boundless depths of Sith knowledge and magic. They were supposed to be mine … but Orthas stole them from me. And now _Lethe_ steals them from me."

"You're sure?" asked Tosin. "That's how Lethe did … whatever she did back there?"

"It is the only possibility," said Siphon. "With the holocrons unlocked, even the lowliest of Sith could ascend to the Dark Council. The rumors of their capabilities … but their secrets were supposed to be sealed! How could she have broken the -"

" - sorry to interrupt," said Hallie, "but we're approaching Twinspire now."

"Good. Take us in, I want to speak to -"

But Siphon's voice trailed off as their speeder flew within viewing distance of the Keep. The sight of Twinspire and its condition sent a chill running down Tosin's spine. Something was wrong. A great and terrible battle had been fought here, and recently. Walls crumbled, fires raged … bodies lay strewn in heaps. This was not the plan. Twinspire was filled with loyalists that should have been easily swayed to the real Siphon. General Ravain had assured it. With Hadrax and Cyriak's forces, what small resistance could have been mustered should have been easily put down.

As if on cue, a massive holo-image of Hadrax appeared in the air, displayed by the holoprojectors lining Twinspire's walls - what remained of them anyway.

"Darth Siphon. Allow me to welcome you to my stronghold."

"Your stronghold?" asked Hallie incredulously.

"... I do believe I've grown fond of this place, despite its rather flamboyant decor."

"Where's General Ravain?" asked Tosin. "Put him on."

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Why not?" seethed Siphon.

Hadrax smiled, wide and victorious. "Dead men aren't the best conversationalists. You understand."

 _General Ravain … dead?_

Siphon screamed. "Coward! Snake! I will have your head! You will rue the day you crossed me, Hadrax! I will rend your corpse into a thousand pieces and then banish your name from history so that nothing of you but ash and dust remain!"

"Is that so?" snorted Hadrax, turning to someone outside the holo-image. " … fire anti-aircraft turrets."

Instantly, Twinspire's remaining anti-aircraft artillery trained upon their feeble speeder.

"Hallie, get us out of here!" shouted Tosin.

The ex-Imperial agent wasted no time, taking them downwards into a deep dive. Hadrax's artillery poured torrents of laser fire after them, while his soldiers raced out of the Keep armed with rockets and missile launchers.

"Look out!" screamed Tava.

Tosin barely had time to think about the girl; he and Siphon whirled around to summon the Force together, conjuring a wall of psychokinetic energy to shield the speeder from the incoming blasts. It was no easy task; deflecting blaster bolts with a lightsaber was one thing, but to use the Force to deflect artillery fire was a task on a gravely magnified level of challenge. Even united, the former master and apprentice were just barely able to prevent their vehicle from being hit.

Half a dozen missiles fired from Hadrax's followers caught up to them, their targets locked onto the rear of their speeder. Exhausted from the battle with Lethe, Tosin couldn't hold his part of the wall up any longer. Sweat poured down his face and his breath came with desperate gasps as he tried and failed to redirect the missiles' momentum with the Force alone.

"We need to get out of range!" he shouted, firing a blast of electricity that immediately struck and exploded two of the missiles. Fire, ash and smoke dissipated into the sky behind them as a brief second of relief flooded Tosin's mind; he had half-expected the lightning to fizzle in his hands.

"Let me handle the piloting, you worry about getting us NOT shot!" Hallie retorted as she pulled upwards, maximizing their acceleration. "Everyone's got their seat belts on, right?!"

She barely waited for an answer before suddenly swerving the speeder to the right to avoid a natural rock formation, hard enough to force them into a spin. Immediately after righting their position, Hallie dropped into another dive, narrowly avoiding a stream of blaster fire and putting the tiniest fraction of distance between them and the four missiles still on their tail.

Tosin spared a moment to feel extremely glad at deciding not to eat earlier that day.

"BRING DOWN THOSE MISSILES, REND!" screamed Siphon.

He could hear the roar of the rockets now, their whistling a desperate dirge meant to signal an impending explosive end. They were close enough that a collision would happen within seconds. Tosin lanced another arc of lightning, catching another two missiles in their flightpath; the explosions deafened his hearing; he could not afford to let up. All the while, artillery laser fire flew by them with frightful alacrity, deflected only by Siphon's will.

There were still two missiles left. A third arc of electricity shot wide from his fingertips as the speeder lurched upwards suddenly to avoid another outcropping of Ziost's rock formations. A fourth found their mark, but Tosin was too drained from his exertions to muster the requisite charge to destroy them; electricity wrapped around the missiles like brilliant wreaths, and then scattered. The missiles continued, unabated.

They weren't going to make it.

"Incompetent _fool!"_ Siphon released the protective shield she had conjured through the Force to slam her arms to the side, causing the remaining missiles to crash into each other; the explosions sundered sight and sound, so close this time that the whole speeder rocked side to side as it was showered with sparks and cinders. The air filled with the scent of fire and burning metal.

Already, Siphon was bringing her arms back upwards to restore her Force barrier, but too slow, too late!

In that second of defenseless, Twinspire's anti-air turrets finally found their mark, shattering the speeder's port repulsorlift, destroying it, sending Tosin, Hallie, Siphon and Tava into a death spiral above the snowy plains of Ziost. They were going down. They were going to crash into one of those stone formations, those towering slabs of igneous rock that reached into the sky like welcoming, vestigial arms. The speeder was moving too fast, too fast to stop, too fast to change course, to slow down, to do anything but carry them to their end.

* * *

 _Lord Pallas' Estate, New Adasta_

Beral answered her holocom eagerly; she had been waiting for this call for days now. Pallas' estate made for poor accommodations, but she suffered them knowing the importance of what she was about to accomplish. Still, she missed Entony and his delectable cuisine. Pallas had been vexatiously indifferent to her culinary needs, insisting that Ziost's frozen landscape made for poor cuisine. And while she suspected Pallas' reluctance to indulge her was in no small part due to her own snubs against him, it would be poor form to call him out on it directly. She had more class than that.

Still, she could only have fried snowstalker wings so many meals a week.

Doing her best to keep her pride in check and swallow Pallas' indignity, she bowed her head to the shimmering blue figure that appeared before her. With most other lords - and even some Darths - she would have been content to spit upon their rank and status, flaunt her own prestige. Not with this one. She knew better than to speak before being spoken to, choosing not to lift her head until the pureblood sith uttered his words first.

" … it's done," the man said. "You'll find the Holocron in the personal quarters of the Citadel's master."

That surprised her, enough so that she forgot her decorum. "Holocron? You don't mean that she's actually -"

"You doubt my assessment?"

"N-no. Of course not. I suppose it's possible that -"

The cerulean image of the man folded his arms across his chest. "My debt to you is repaid. Do not call upon me again for such trivial tasks."

Beral sighed. "I had thought perhaps your aid would be offered freely, given the importance of this task to our -"

"You meddle in affairs that are not yours to meddle in. This 'task' was always another's. That you seek to insinuate yourself into its completion is reason enough for me to have refused you, regardless of what was due. I only acquiesced because there is little your interference can do that could worsen the outcome at this stage."

That condescending son of a … "Don't tell me you actually think -"

"My opinion is irrelevant, as is yours. I will not dissuade you from this course, but I trust you will have the good sense not to expect a reward for it either."

She lifted her eyes so that they met his. His cybernetic ocular implant trained upon her, spinning and focusing, as though trying to judge some sort of reaction or physiological response to his rebuke. Beral would not give him the satisfaction. "Then I trust you will exercise the better part of your discretion and keep this between the two of us."

"Is this what you want us to be reduced to?" The pureblood chuckled, the laughs like bursts of rime upon her ears. "Keeping secrets from our own brethren like common rabble."

"If you truly opposed the idea, there is little I could do to stop you. I will assume your failure to object means you have agreed to indulge me."

"For the time being. If you are successful, the others will know soon enough. And if you aren't …" The pureblood trailed off, letting the silence speak his meaning for him.

Beral was not phased; she smiled. "Have you ever known me to fail at anything I set my mind to?"

" … there's a first time for everything. Remember that."


	21. Exiles - Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

* * *

 _Three Hours After the Attack on the Citadel, Near Twinspire Keep_

Hallie woke to find herself floating in mid-air.

Immediately she yelped, hands shooting outwards to latch onto anyone, anything, legs struggling to find purchase, to seek solid ground to -

"Stop! Stop struggling, Hallie, it's me, it's okay! We've got you. I've got you."

Tosin's voice emanated from above her. He stood atop one of the towering tors that dotted Ziost's plains, looking about as battered as she felt. Blood streamed from his head and it looked like one of his arms was broken - hanging limply by his side - but he still managed to have one hand locked onto her, commanding the Force to lift her upwards to where he stood.

She glanced down - their speeder had smashed into the side of a rock outcropping - almost a hundred meters up … and was now teetering slowly, back and forth, on the verge of tipping over and crashing to the earth below. Tava was still inside, barely breathing. Hallie hovered just half a meter above the togruta girl, with nothing but cold air and the will of her friend to separate her from a gruesome fate.

"Please don't drop me."

"Even Agent Quen is losing faith in your abilities, Rend," said Siphon. The Darth did not appear overly injured - at least, not more than what Lethe had already done to her. Her hands too were outstretched; it was by both Tosin and Siphon's will combined that Hallie now slowly levitated to safety.

Even so, Hallie objected to having words put in her mouth. "Don't listen to her Tosin. I trust you. It's just … we're very high up."

"Well, since you place so much trust in your _friend,_ I suppose my assistance is no longer required."

Siphon didn't waste a second releasing her hold. Instantly, Hallie felt her stomach leap into her mouth as her body dropped half a meter; she couldn't suppress a terrified cry. Tosin struggled to stabilize her, fingers seizing at empty air but pulling at weight nonetheless. The effort almost toppled him over, almost sent him careening downwards to join her, but he managed to catch himself at the last second. Securing his grip over Hallie through the Force, he resumed her extraction before shooting a furious glare to the Darth.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"I have brooked your disrespect and your impertinence for far too long! I am Darth Siphon! I am your _master!"_

Hallie finally reached the top of the outcropping. As Tosin set her down, she scrambled to get as far away from the edge as she could, panting with relief. Tosin's breath came in heavy rasps as well; Hallie could tell he was exhausted. Who wouldn't be after the day they just had? Even so, Siphon's words sparked a fury in him that Hallie hadn't seen in months. "How many times do we have to tell you? You are not my master. You are not Hallie's master. We disavowed you months ago!"

Siphon's nostrils flared at Tosin's defiance. "You think words are enough to sever the ties that connect us? Have you forgotten what it is to be Sith so quickly? Master and apprentice ... we are bound to each other until _death."_

"You have no right to speak of being Sith!" hissed Tosin. "You have no powerbase, you have no disciples. You have nothing. You are an impostor to your own identity!"

This was getting out of hand. Hallie had to do something to stop this. "Tosin, please" Hallie pleaded. "Tava's still trapped, we need to get her out!"

But Tosin was too caught up in his rage to hear her. "Orthas might have lost the Kaggath to you, but you lost everything to Lethe without even trading a blow. And you think you can sit there and castigate me?! You think _you_ can judge _me?!"_

Siphon didn't say a word in response. Instead, she walked over to the ledge, just above the teetering speeder with Tava still inside.

Hallie realized too late what the Darth was about to do. Even as she screamed for Siphon to stop, even as she charged the Darth's form, even as Tosin's eyes finally reflected understanding at what was about to happen …

She knew it was too late.

Darth Siphon summoned the Force in both hands. One she directed at Hallie and Tosin, taking them by surprise, binding them, compelling them into an immovable stasis, rendering them impotent against her will. With the other, she slammed downwards; and though that hand touched only air, Hallie could hear its intent realized - the sound of metal, reverberating against uncompromising power, the dissonance of shattering rocks, being crushed into sand. The cacophony of cascading debris … a cry of innocence in terror … followed by a fatal explosion.

Their stone platform shuddered, quivering beneath Siphon's power. As it subsided, so too did the Darth finally release both Hallie and Tosin from her compulsion.

"Why did you do that?!" Hallie screamed.

Siphon smiled, the brazenness of its inauthenticity matched only by how utterly jarring the calm of her voice sounded. "Why? Rend questioned my authenticity as Sith. You wouldn't have me let that slander go unchallenged, would you?"

"Tava was innocent. She didn't do anything to you! You … you didn't have to -"

 _"I DID!"_ shrieked Siphon. "Rend has forgotten what it is to be Sith! What it is to hold another's life in the palm of your hand … to know they draw breath only by your whim. By your power. And you both needed a reminder that no matter the condition of my powerbase, no matter who sits upon my throne, _I am still a Darth._ And before me … you can only submit."

"No," said Tosin. The fury was gone now, the rage dissipated by shock … but the will was resolute. The resolve was unbending. "I'm sorry Hallie. I can't do this. I can't follow this madwoman any longer. Come with me or no, I'm getting as far away from this psychopath as possible."

Not now. Not like this. "Tosin, please, after everything that's happened -?"

"We are no closer today to getting Andora than we were months ago! Don't you see? This is a lost cause; you have to let him go."

But she couldn't. Or could she? Could she betray the twi'lek again? Could she sacrifice that feeling of his arms wrapped around her, to know she was safe, loved, at home?

Siphon lifted a threatening arm. "You're not going anywhere, Rend!"

"Watch me!" Tosin whirled around, making for the nearest ledge that could support his weight.

"I'll have Andora killed."

"He's dead already," Tosin retorted, continuing his search for a way down.

Siphon paused for only a second before speaking again. " … leave, and I'll kill your precious Hallie."

Hallie's eyes darted to Siphon. They weren't blinking.

Tosin turned around slowly. "You wouldn't. She's actually wants to help you!"

"Wouldn't I?" Siphon raised her hand and the all-too familiar sensation of an invisible fist curling around her neck instantly returned to strike terror straight into Hallie's heart.

Gasping for breath, she watched as Tosin lanced a brilliant arc of crackling electricity towards their former master; instantly, Siphon reacted. Still maintaining her hold on Hallie's throat, the Darth used her free hand to wreathe herself in a static barrier that swallowed Tosin's assault into itself. Even so, the attack was so filled with hatred that Siphon's invocation could not absorb it all. Stray jolts of electric discharge surged into the Darth, illuminating her with deadly energy; the smell of singed hair filled Hallie's nostrils.

It wasn't enough. Siphon's mouth widened with imperious exultation. "That's right! There's your power! Show me your strength! Your anger!"

A furious battle cry loosed from Tosin's lips as he leaped towards Siphon, empowered by the Force, lightsaber whistling through the air as he launched into a spinning slash meant to bisect Siphon at the waist.

But he didn't have the element of surprise this time; the earlier battles had taken their toll. Hallie watched as Siphon leveraged the Force to catch Tosin in mid-air, sapping all the momentum from his acrobatics with a single gesture. With the next, she smashed him into the ground, pinning him there with an unseen hand, forcing him and Hallie to watch each other, helpless.

"What will it be, Rend? What will you tell yourself to console this defeat?" asked Siphon. "That you remain by my side to save Andora? Or to save Hallie?"

Desperate for breath, Hallie still managed to rasp, "Let Tosin go! You don't need him, you have me!"

Siphon cackled, jubilant glee expunged from her mouth in mocking celebration. "Do you not yet understand? I have you _both!_ Either that, or I'll have your corpses."

Tosin's voice cried out in frustration, in desperation, in futility, his voice echoing down towards the icy plains of Ziost, carrying with it all hope of escape. All hope of freedom. Regret did not cover the breadth of emotion that now wrapped around Hallie's heart. Neither did guilt. They were in this mess because of her. Because she abandoned Andora. And now they were once more trapped in Siphon's web. Prisoners who grasped at sunlight they could only feel through metal bars.

It was all her fault.

"So. What will it be?" asked Siphon. "Will you submit? Or will you watch each other die?"

When neither Hallie nor Tosin made any sound, Siphon tightened the grip around her neck. She choked, desperate to suck in air however she could, helpless in the face of the Darth's unrelenting power.

"Stop. _Stop!_ I'm yours, alright? I'm yours." Tosin spat the words and turned his head away. Hallie couldn't tell who he was more disgusted with. She bowed her head. This wasn't what she wanted. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. They were supposed to rescue Andora from Siphon's clutches … not deliver to the Darth two new slaves.

"That's much better." Siphon released her hold over them both. "Make yourselves useful while I signal my remaining allies. We will regroup."

Hallie gasped for breath, coughing and spitting up flecks of blood. Tosin got to his feet, sullen, despondent. He looked almost … broken.

"Tosin ..." Hallie struggled to her feet, placing a hand on his shoulder. He only turned away, walking away from her touch.

"Let's just get out of here."

* * *

 _One Day After the Attack on the Citadel_

 _There is no passion. Without passion, I cannot gain strength._

It took another half a day for Siphon's reinforcements - a single cyborg with a small shuttlecraft - to arrive at their location. The wait was agonizing. Atop the pillar of rock, there was little to do save for converse, and he neither wanted to talk nor listen. Not with his current 'companions.' He consented to medical treatment, but did so without uttering a word or responding to a single question.

And so he spent the rest of the wait: in silence. Hallie tried to reach out to him a few times, to speak with him, to utter some words of regret or apology or consolation. Tosin wanted none of it. He felt invisible chains wrap around his wrists, tying them inexorably to Darth Siphon, the Sith witch that demanded his loyalty and yet betrayed him again and again. He swore to himself that he would never rejoin her, that he would destroy her so long as he had the power. And yet … once more he had been forced to submit.

 _Without strength, I cannot seize power._

He should have never agreed to help Hallie on her fool's errand. Saving Andora was an idealist's dream … and there was no room for idealism in the Empire.

The shuttle ride back to New Adasta was no less demoralizing. The cyborg piloted the shuttle; Siphon continued her periodic fits of insane ranting, speaking to voices that only she could hear: at times pleading, and then commanding, occasionally excoriating. Hallie tried to catch his gaze a few times, but he avoided it like the plague.

Tosin was being unfair, he knew. He had volunteered for this after all. Hallie had saved his life on more than one occasion; an offer of aid in return was the least he could do. But was it? Why did he feel the curious and inexplicable need to return the favor? A few months ago, he would have taken advantage of a similar kindness one second and then spat upon its deliverer in the next.

Now, he was tethered by honor, by gratitude, by decency. And when he defied those bindings … remorse. Guilt, regret, contrition … these were not the emotions of Sith. Why did he feel them?

Why could he no longer go back?

Perhaps Siphon was right. He was losing his way. He glanced down to his open palms, and quietly tried to conjure Sith lightning. Just a spark. Just enough to know he still could.

A tiny arc, flickered between his fingertips and then faded.

 _Without power, I cannot grasp victory._

They arrived back at the Central District apartment they had made their temporary base while planning the attack on the Citadel. Someone had ransacked it - Hadrax no doubt, in a misguided attempt to search for secrets. They had none that he did not already know.

"Is it safe to stay here now?" asked Hallie, the note of uncertain anxiety in her voice not lost on Tosin. "Hadrax knows this place."

"If he wanted us dead, he would not have let us flee Twinspire," he said, almost by instinct. Hallie shot him a relieved look, but he turned away before their eyes could meet again. He was not ready to commiserate. Not yet.

Siphon spat upon the ground. "The man sorely underestimates me. He seems to have forgotten that I slew his master."

"Did you though?" asked Tosin. "Was it you who did it? Or your sister? That was always your secret weapon, wasn't it? That you had a doppelganger. One of you would hide in the Force, while the other occupied your opponent's attention. Then, when the moment was right … the trap would be sprung, and 'Siphon' would seize victory from the shadows."

"What's your point?" hissed Siphon.

"Could you have defeated Orthas without your sister? Without her … how do you know you are stronger than his most powerful disciple?"

Siphon smiled. "You seem to have already forgotten our exchange from just a few hours ago. Do you need another demonstration?"

"Please, enough!" said Hallie. "This will never end if we're always fighting each other."

The Darth paused for a second before agreeing. "Indeed. Agent Quen is right. We should make preparations for our next move." She began pacing back and forth.

"What can we do at this point?" asked Tosin. "Lethe still has the Citadel. Hadrax now has Twinspire. Unless you have another army of cyborgs that we don't know about, what could we possibly -"

"It's so obvious though, isn't it?" said Siphon suddenly, a mental light illuminating an idea that Tosin suspected had been gestating for a long while. "Hadrax and Cyriak have betrayed me. Lethe has usurped my throne. They have the audacity to reject my rightful claim to their allegiance."

Tosin shared a glance with Hallie, almost involuntarily. The woman was pontificating again.

The Darth whirled upon them both.

"Don't you see? There is but one explanation for how all this came to pass. How Lethe could have so overpowered me. The Holocrons of Ancient Sorcery! They are the key. Without them, Lethe is nothing; she couldn't have defeated me without their power. With them, I will be as a god. We must seize the Holocrons! If Lethe could unlock their secrets, so can I!"

"Are you sure they'll be enough?" asked Hallie "Against two powerbases? Us three and the Holocrons?"

Tosin shook his head. "This is insanity."

But Siphon was not listening. She continued, enthralled by her plan, giddy with anticipation. "Lethe will know the folly of her insolence. Hadrax and Cyriak will crumble beneath my power. I will be greater than all the Lords of the Sith. All the Darths! _I will surpass the Dark Council. Transcend the Emperor! Before me, the galaxy will tremble. I will be a Dark Lady of the Sith, a Queen, ruler of all the Empire!"_

Maniacal laughter spewed from Siphon's mouth, a deluge of delirious glee, a dissonant counterpoint to the overwhelming dread that now closed around Tosin's heart. He could feel its coils grip him, an inexorable vise, joined in morose union with the shackles that now bound both him and Hallie once again to their master.

 _Without victory, my chains cannot be broken_.

 _The Force cannot free me._

END PART TWO

* * *

Writer's Note: And there's the end of Part Two! Thank you as always for reading. Part Three will be titled Interlopers and will return the story to Lethe and Sierra. As usual, comments, criticism, and suggestions are all welcome and appreciated.


	22. Interlude 04

**Interlude**

* * *

 _3637 BBY, Two Months After the Attack on the Citadel_

"... unconfirmed reports continue to circulate that the Sith Lords Hadrax and Cyriak have started an open rebellion against their master, Darth Siphon. Anonymous sources have told Adasta Daily News that the two lords in question have wrested control of Twinspire Keep from the Darth. If true, this illegal action would merit severe censure under Imperial Law."

Lord Beral waited lackadaisically, seated in the chair opposite Agent Shiro Thresh's desk. The office was a rather bland affair, decorated mostly with Imperial propaganda. The Citadel's Head of Security was nowhere to be found, though Beral was confident he would turn up eventually. In the meantime, she was perfectly content to entertain herself with the news. This particular anchorman was attractive for a human, with a chiseled jaw and a cleft chin that just faintly hinted at pureblood tendrils.

"Neither Darth Siphon herself nor Lords Hadrax or Cyriak could be reached for comment. Siphon's personal apprentice, Lord Eris, continues to insist that no such revolution has occurred and that the lords in question have merely been stationed at Twinspire as part of their ongoing duties. Watch as ADN's political correspondent, Jerich Olts, attempts to discern the truth from Lord Eris in this unprecedented interview."

The footage cut to a young woman with strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes, emphatically rebutting an interviewer's question. "...these are unfounded rumors spread by Darth Siphon's rivals in a blatant attempt to undermine our powerbase. No stock should be put into them."

"Lord Eris," protested the interviewer. "Is that still your position, even in light of multiple eye-witness accounts claiming Twinspire was the site of a tragic battle that decimated your forces?"

"Precisely why Lords Hadrax and Cyriak have been assigned to Twinspire. Our stronghold has suffered what we suspect to be a coordinated assault by the Ziost Liberation Front and Darth Siphon's political enemies."

"Care to name names?" pressed the interviewer. "Surely Sith Intelligence and the Dark Council should get involved if sedition and sabotage are in play."

"While we do indeed have suspects, in this time of war and uncertainty, Darth Siphon is hesitant to make open accusations without concrete evidence. Rest assured that once we have it, all necessary actions will take place to ensure our powerbase's future. With regards to your original question, I would note that neither Lord Hadrax nor Lord Cyriak have come forward to openly claim revolution. That should be answer enough."

A curious gambit, that much Beral would admit. Siphon's pride might have prevented her from getting help from her superiors, but the lie was no doubt an attempt to dissuade the upstarts from moving too openly against her. The real reason Hadrax and Cyriak did not come forward was quite simple: an open rebellion against a Darth by two of her disciples would not be tolerated by any Sith who still held Imperial law in esteem.

It was one thing for Sith engaged in a Kaggath to war with each other; it was another for an apprentice to openly rebel against their master. And with the string of losses the Empire had suffered - most recently the sacking of Korriban by the Revanites - a second Kaggath within the same powerbase would not be well-received by the rest of the Empire's political stage. While the master's status among the sith hierarchy might worsen with every day they failed to quash the unrest in their own house, the apprentice would lose standing with every second they failed to unseat their master.

Half-measures and half-victories earned no one any favors. Thanaton's failure against Nox was evidence enough.

Beral would give Siphon credit for her ploy. By claiming the pair of upstarts were merely assigned to Twinspire in the wake of a seditionist attack coordinated with rival Sith, she managed to both rebut the rumors of rebellion while sending a strong message to the rest of her political rivals. Other Sith would balk at assaulting a powerbase - even one as weakened as Siphon's was - if they suspected other forces were already conspiring to do the same.

"Of course," continued the newscaster, "Some political analysts across the Empire remain skeptical that everything is as united as Lord Eris would like us to believe. What cannot be denied is the increasing brazenness of the Ziost Liberation Front, whose activities continue to plague New Ada-"

The news vid abruptly terminated as Agent Thresh stepped into his office. "Apologies for the wait, my lord. Things have been rather busy of late."

Beral offered a haughty smile. The old man somehow looked about a dozen years older than the profile in the dossier Pallas had assembled for her. Recent events must have taken their toll.

"I can see that. It seems your powerbase is the talk of the town. Care to comment on those widely reported rumors that you've two rebels helming Twinspire Keep?"

"Idle gossip, my lord. Not worthy of your time." Beral detected the distinct hint of a practiced statement delivered by instinct rather than by veracity.

"Of course, of course. Still, that's not the only reason Siphon has the lords of New Adasta tittering like little children. Giving unprecedented access to the media like you did: an interview with the personal disciple of your master. I've known news organizations to go out of business in Kaas City trying to acquire what Siphon freely offered."

"Darth Siphon," corrected Thresh, clearly by instinct. His expression soon-reflected a note of regretful horror.

Beral only smiled.

Thresh stammered for a good half-minute before he found his bearings again. "O-out of business? What happened to them?"

"Oh, you know," said Beral, her smile widening into a grin. "Sudden and extreme labor shortages. It's very hard for holonet broadcasting to broadcast if it's lost all of its correspondents and anchors."

Thresh swallowed audibly. Beral delighted in the man's sudden and extreme discomfort.

"Y-yes. That uh … brings us to the subject at hand. If I may ask, what is your business here with Darth Siphon, my lord? You realize she is not present at the moment."

Of course she did. She had selected this day specifically because she knew that Siphon had arranged to pay a visit to Lord Lector. Pallas had cleverly manipulated himself into attending the meeting; Beral would have to remember to undercut his accomplishment the next time they spoke.

She pulled a small, spherical token from the lining of her sleeves. For a moment, she let the marble dance on the tops of her fingers, sliding in and between the phalanges, a tiny moon, orbiting the flesh of her anatomy. She felt Thresh's eyes upon her, curious and inquisitive and then turned to him, speaking her request casually, as though it was the simplest of favors that anyone could accomplish.

"The smallest of matters. I would like free reign of her personal chambers."

Beral's eyes locked onto the agent's own, searching them, seeking the man's response. It was like chemistry, watching neurons pass signals to each other, to dance through the brain, bringing her words from his ears to his mind, the shock to his widening eyes, the disbelieving outrage to his tongue.

"Is this some sort of joke?"

"Not at all." Beral examined her fingernails, the sphere still orbiting her hand, now by her will, channeled through the Force.

Thresh waited a long moment before speaking, doubtlessly wondering what his best course of action, eyes following the orb floating around Beral like it was a bullet about to be shot. Eventually, he settled on the wisest option he had available: defer and deflect. "That really must be taken up with Darth Siphon. You understand, my lord. Once she returns to the Citadel, I will communicate your desire to her."

Slowly, she lifted her eyes back to him. "No, I don't understand I'm afraid. I wish to inspect Siphon's quarters … now." Without warning, she caught the relic in her hand, snatching it from the air, closing her fist around it to hide it from sight. "And I do not wish for Siphon to know of this visitation. You _will_ assist me."

Thresh looked appalled. "I'm afraid that is entirely out of the question. If there is something else I can do for you, I would be -"

 _"You will allow me access to Darth Siphon's quarters. And you will remember only that we engaged in idle conversation."_

Their eyes met once more, and it was then Beral unleashed the raw power of the Force upon her victim.

"I will allow you access to - w-what? No, I will do no such -"

The man's training served him well. It had been a long time since anyone had been able to resist Beral's mental manipulation. Still, no matter the expertise, Beral always got what she wanted … even if she had to leave her subjects blabbering and incontinent afterward.

 _"You will allow me access to Darth Siphon's quarters."_

The Force weaved from her tongue, spilling words charged with potent conviction. They snaked through the man's ears, through the crevices of Thresh's mind, twisting his thoughts, corrupting them. Subjugating them.

"I will allow you access to Darth Siphon's quarters," repeated Thresh in monotone.

 _"You will disable security camera footage within and without her quarters, and you will erase any trace that I was ever here."_

Before her will, Thresh's mind crumbled; he was her puppet. He could but repeat and enact her wishes.

 _"You will remember only that we engaged in small talk before I departed your Citadel."_

It was done.

"Well, I quite enjoyed our conversation, Agent Thresh. No need to see me out."

Thresh blinked. "Of course, my lord. Darth Siphon will be disappointed she missed you."

Beral grinned as she departed his office. "I'm sure she will."

The halls of the Citadel were noticeably empty. It was not surprising, given the truth of what happened two months ago. Hadrax and Cyriak had usurped Twinspire Keep with a majority of the forces that Orthas once commanded. That left Siphon with barely half her overall strength. Her stronghold, as a consequence, was now desperately understaffed.

And therefore much simpler to infiltrate.

Beral only encountered three souls on her way to Siphon's quarters: two apprentices who seemed deep in conversation about the status of their master's faction, and a meek-looking slave on the turbolift. None of them sought to detain her or even question her; they no doubt assumed Beral had been properly vetted by security, even if they did not recognize her themselves. It was not the place of mere apprentices - much less a slave - to question someone of her stature, someone who walked with confidence and assurance of purpose.

Bravado had its uses.

She reached Siphon's personal quarters, unmolested. Those massive double-durasteel doors hid behind them the Holocrons - no, _Holocron_ \- of Ancient Sorcery. Beral had paid a heavy price to have its location ascertained, to complete a task that would earn her neither accolades nor compensation. But she had watched this sideshow of an operation carry on long enough. The others might have been content to wait for things to play out, but Beral did not take well to sitting on the sidelines.

She noted the security cameras - they had been disabled as she commanded. _Perfect._

Her thumb and index finger closed around the spherical token she had tucked away - assurance that it still remained.

Then, she withdrew her violet lightsaber and carved a meter-wide hole into the durasteel doors, commanding the Force to pull the wreckage out with a swift and smooth motion of her hand. Instantly, alarms started blaring. Beral was not concerned. Her task would not take long, and with Thresh under her compulsion, she would have more than ample time to accomplish her mission. By the time the Citadel's security located the site of her incursion, she would be long gone.

She stepped into Siphon's chambers. The sphere hummed in her hand, resonating with powerful, compelled vibration, reacting to the presence of the Holocron. Beral needed only to find it now, to locate its -

She wasn't alone.

Before her, a girl she recognized only from holo-imagery, hovering over what looked like a hidden compartment, elevated from the flooring of Siphon's quarters. A mop of strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes, young … an apprentice only recently made Lord. And yet, Beral sensed no small amount of ability in her, raw and yet honed at the same time.

She smiled, delighted at this turn of events. "Sierra, I presume. Or is it Lord Eris?"

The girl looked shocked that any other could have breached the room. Clearly, she was not supposed to be here. Beral watched Sierra's eyes dart from the desecrated double-doors to the windows and vents, searching for an exit, for an escape. One hand had already been placed into the hidden compartment, doubtless to steal the Holocron for herself …

… or was it?

Beral had not forgotten the intelligence she received from Pallas: Sierra had lied about her history to Siphon. She was no loyal disciple; she was an opportunist … a traitor.

"Who are you?" the girl asked, hand frozen within the secret compartment, as though she feared any movement might call Beral's attention to her prize. Though Beral could not see within the reliquary from her vantage point, she could feel the Holocron calling out, desperate for release, aching for satisfaction. She would bring it one step closer to its fruition.

"The real question is who you are, isn't it?" returned Beral. "Why are you here? What is your purpose?"

"I could ask the same of you," snapped Sierra. "I am Darth Siphon's personal apprentice; I don't answer to you, and I don't have to explain myself."

"No, I suppose not. Not to me, anyway. But your hand is dangerously near something that very much is my concern."

The girl's eyes narrowed, sharply transforming her face from that of a naive idealist's to one of a hardened warrior. "The Holocron is my master's. You will not come near it!"

Beral wanted to laugh so badly. This girl was completely adorable! A child, playing the part of a Sith. No wonder Siphon was so fond of her. How could anyone resist the lure of such a charming _pet?_ "Are you certain _you_ are allowed to touch it, my precious girl?" asked Beral. "I would hate to have to inform your master of this little indiscretion."

The girl's expression lit up into a smug smile. "What do you think she'll believe? That an outsider tried to steal her relic and her most loyal disciple prevented its theft? Or that the disciple was the thief and the interloper merely happened to break into her quarters at the same time … by coincidence?"

"So bold. I do miss this quality in the Sith of this age. So many within the Empire are now all but simpering buffoons."

Sierra ignored Beral and instead activated her comlink. "Thresh. I need security at Darth Siphon's chambers. We have an intruder."

Whatever Thresh's response was, it clearly did not meet Sierra's satisfaction. "What do you mean you're going to erase all signs of the intru- Thresh! I need -"

Beral let her exultation escape from her mouth in flitting gasps.

Comprehension finally dawned; Beral saw it in the girl's eyes. "What did you do to him?"

"There are no minds that are barred to my will. It wasn't his fault." Beral smirked. "Just like it won't be yours when I escape."

"Escape? You're not going anywhere," said Sierra, one hand drawing her lightsaber, the other still grasping at the Holocron from within its alcove.

Beral giggled. The little apprentice wanted to play. She would indulge the child her whimsy. "Come then. Strike at me if you can!"

But Beral didn't wait, choosing instead to summon the Force to snatch at the cortosis compartment itself. So powerful was her will, an agonizing screech of tearing metal pierced her ears as she tore the repository itself from its base. Sierra responded a second slower, bringing her free hand up to conjure the Force as well, latching onto the other end of the now-severed receptacle. To Beral's surprise, the box slowed in its path towards her, compelled to resist her command by Sierra's will - it was strong to defy her so.

The receptacle jittered between them for a good half-minute before Beral had enough. She made it look as though she was about to wrench the cortosis container from her opponent's grasp through sheer force of will alone; as Sierra readied to counter with increased exertion of her own, Beral suddenly released the Force and watched as the box launched like a slingshot fired back at Sierra. The girl dodged, but too slow - the cortosis container slammed into her side, winding her.

Beral smiled, summoning the chamber holding the Holocron to her once more.

But Sierra wasn't done. Even as the Holocron was about to touch Beral's fingertips, a crimson lightsaber spun end to end in a furious arc that would have decapitated her had she not ducked down at the last second. The exertion forced her to release the receptacle; it shot past her, behind her. Before she could retrieve it, Siphon's apprentice leaped into the air, catching her blade and redirecting it into an aggressive overhand slash brought downwards for the kill.

The girl's speed was almost impossible to believe. Beral didn't have time to unsheath her own blade to defend - but neither did she need it. The Force was her servant, her slave. It did her will, commanded at her fingertips to stop Sierra's lightsaber in its tracks. A shower of sparks lit their contest as the girl's lightsaber collided with pure Force.

Sierra grunted as she tried to overpower Beral's _tutaminis_ with only her physical strength. "You're not getting the Holocron!" she snarled.

Beral cackled. "Go ahead! Proclaim your certainties and then watch them evaporate!"

With only a free hand, she wrenched a dozen decorative - but sharp - spears free from their glass encasements along the walls. They angled in the air, positioning themselves to skewer Beral's opponent from all sides. Sierra wasn't caught unawares; realizing the futility of her efforts and the increasing precariousness of her position, she leaped backwards, brandishing her blade just in time to dismantle and deflect the half dozen spears launched at her.

Beral would not be so easily dissuaded; she pulled the last spear back at the last second, then drove it towards the girl's hand with such ferocity that Siphon's apprentice could not react in time. The spear grazed Sierra's palm, cutting into it, elicited a surprised yelp … and then Beral knew she had won.

Even as Sierra summoned her lightsaber back to her hand, Beral had already raced forward, empowered by the Force, emboldened by impending victory. One hand locked around the girl's throat. The other's open palm slammed into her forehead. Through her limbs, Beral channeled the near-endless well of the Force at her command, sharpened it, tailored it to domination. The girl claimed once to be a slave - Beral would make her one for real!

"Let go of me!"

"You will submit!"

Every word she spoke reverberated the Force. They wound through the girl's ears, through the dark and unseen places of her mind, contorting her thoughts, polluting her autonomy.

"I- I … will … not ..." The girl was strong. She fought Beral as none had ever fought her before. Beral did not expect this from a Lord, would not have anticipated this even from some of the Darths. Who was this woman really? How could she possess such incomparable mental strength?

She spoke the words again, pouring herself into every syllable, every tone and vowel and consonant. No matter Sierra's true history, Beral would not be denied. Not by a false sith, not by any mere apprentice! _"You will submit!"_

 _"I … I will …"_

Beral could feel it. Resolve bending. Willpower, breaking. Discipline, collapsing.

"I will submit," said Sierra in monotone.

A tidal wave nearly drowned her in an overwhelming sensation of euphoria. There was nothing quite like dominating a Force-sensitive; few sensations surpassed the euphoria of feeling them crumble and capitulate in her dark embrace.

"You will stand guard," Beral commanded. "You will kill anyone who approaches these quarters."

Sierra repeated the words to her, eyes hazy and unfocused. Slowly, she ambled towards the broken door of Siphon's personal chambers.

Beral's smile widened in victorious glee. She moved to retrieve the Holocron from the battered compartment that still housed it within. She knelt down to pick up the relic; it was ice on her skin, sapping her heat, her power, feeding itself like a ravenous parasite. Soon, its hunger would be insatiable.

She stood up, levitating the Holocron of Ancient Sorcery beside her. From her sleeve, she withdrew the orb. It too levitated forward. Both Holocron and orb resonated with each other, generating a deafening din, a staggering clamor, pulsing with energy and power as she forced them close. It was not hard - they were drawn together like magnets of opposite polarity. They wanted the other, needed each other to be complete. The pyramid opened itself to accept the orb within, consumed it, devoured it whole.

The Holocron flashed a brilliant scarlet for a just a second before it fell from its place in midair to hit the cold floor without bouncing, as though it was always its intent to reach that particular position.

The impact sent trembles throughout the Citadel.

Beral could not stop grinning. She had done it. It was only the first of the last few steps that were needed, but she had taken it. Where all others had failed, she had been successful. Where the rest of her brethren had been content to wait, she alone possessed the _daring_ to foment.

Her self-congratulation was rudely interrupted by the blade of a crimson lightsaber, extended from behind her head to past her nose, its edge dangerously close to her throat.

"What was that you were saying about your escape? Move a single muscle, and you're dead."

 _Sierra._ It wasn't possible. None among the Empire had ever broken free of Beral's compulsion so quickly. How had this feeble girl done it?

"This is Lord Eris to all Citadel Security personnel. Rendezvous at Darth Siphon's personal quarters. I have a prisoner. And someone make sure Agent Thresh is alright."

The more she thought about it, the more she did not understand. Who was this girl? Who was Sierra, was Eris? Her backstory was a lie, that much was certain. No mere failed apprentice could have defied Beral's commands like this girl did. Was she a Lord? A Darth, masquerading a child? Did she serve the Dark Council? Was that why she was trying to steal the Holocron?

As the Citadel's remaining security forces shuffled in, cuffing her and blindfolding her, Beral started to laugh. She didn't put up a fight, didn't struggle. No, there was too much within this Citadel that she still wanted to learn. She wanted to be here to watch, to witness her efforts realized. To uncover the secrets that still defied her.

This was all too _delicious._

"You find defeat amusing?" asked Sierra. "I'm happy to oblige."

"No. I was just thinking how you really should kill me now, while you have the chance. I can promise you you'll regret not doing it."

"We'll see how much of your audacity remains after my master is done with you. Clearly you know something about the Holocron. Whatever secrets you possess of it, my master will tear them from your tongue."

"Darling girl, precious child … you and your master are pieces in a game you don't even know is being played. Leaves upon the wind, water in the stream. Pushed and pulled in every which direction, never knowing why, never thinking there could be any other course."

The girl's response was remarkably calm. "You have no idea what you're talking about. You don't know anything about me."

The girl jerked her head the security forces. They slowly led Beral away, shackled and blindfolded.

Beral only smiled. "Oh, I will. Sooner than you think."


	23. Interlopers - Chapter 19

_**Part Three: Interlopers**_

 **Chapter 19**

* * *

 _Siphon's Citadel_

The face that stared back at Lethe in the mirror would never be her own again.

She would never recognize the sight of her former master's golden mask as her own, gazing back at her with all of its imperious nonchalance. Not before, when it was only a mask; a decadent symbol of everything she thought she wanted. Not now, after the rage behind Lord Rend's assault had melted the caricature into her actual face, searing the metal into her bone. It was a symbol still, but not of her desires. Only a prison: a locked cell that bound her to her former master's identity, one she could never escape.

Every time she saw her own reflection, she heard her master's voice echo through her very core, delivering haughty accusations: Liar. Pretender. Usurper.

Accusations she could not deny.

And yet … who could know them to be true now? To the rest of the world, Lethe was Siphon - there was no doubt, no question. Even after the attack.

This was what she had wanted from the start - to steal her master's power, her prestige, her infamy. She had promised herself she would do whatever necessary to achieve her ambitions. Whatever it cost - even if it was her face, her soul, her very identity.

Regret surged from within Lethe's heart, rising up in despair despite her best efforts to quash it under heel. She could hear the real Siphon now, whispering in her ear, berating her for being unwilling to accept the consequences of her actions.

Shame joined remorse in a stinging chorus.

But … the pain was manageable today.

Lethe brought her fingers up to caress the metal that now emblazoned her face, the mask that - even mutilated - still managed to appear the domineering persona that her master once was. Across her face, spikes of agony tormented her where the metal had solidified into her skin. The burns refused to heal. She often found herself waking in the night screaming in agony.

It was easier during the day, when consciousness drove focus to enemies and plots and moves. Then the pain fueled her, gave her purpose, charged her with vengeful drive. It was the night that she could not control: the darkness that swallowed the world like her mask swallowed her head brought no solace, no comfort. No respite.

She refused anesthesia. She was not weak. She was not afraid of pain. It was a reminder that mercy within the Empire was a fantasy. Only one thing mattered: power. And who possessed more of it.

Before her, the Holocron of Ancient Sorcery spun in place off the ground, lifted by the Lethe's will.

"I've detained the prisoner in the holding cells, master. How should we proceed?"

Her disciple's words snapped her from her reverie. They stood upon the balcony of Lethe's personal quarters, staring out across the cityscape of New Adasta. Night had fallen, and the city's infrastructure had come alive, kindled by a populace on edge. Lethe felt it herself. Something was changing in the air. In the way the planet turned. There was a hitch, a pause, a break. Something was off, but no one could quite place their finger on it.

"She still hasn't spoken a word? Nothing about how she knew about the Holocron?" asked Lethe, turning around. The interior of her chambers still proudly displayed the remnants of a fierce battle. Slaves scurried to restore the quarters to their original pristine condition; they had already inserted a makeshift plug into her door to seal the breach.

"Nothing," responded Eris. "Thresh has confirmed she is Lord Beral from Dromund Kaas - a minor Sith of insignificant stature. Her powerbase includes a lavish estate, but otherwise has no assets or allegiances of note."

"So we've learned nothing useful about her."

"We have her bound and blindfolded. She might not have said anything, but she's not going anywhere."

It troubled Lethe that knowledge of the Holocron's existence was spreading. There was a leak in her stronghold … but who? Apart from Astraad, Eris, and Thresh … and apparently now this Lord Beral - an unknown entity seeking to steal from her - who else could know of the Holocron? To whom did this Beral's allegiance belong? Did she act alone? Or did she have conspirators plotting with her against Lethe?

Could it be Hadrax and Cyriak? Lethe dismissed the thought quickly. She was reasonably certain they never knew of the Holocron's existence at all. Astraad had made sure of it. The real Siphon was the more likely possibility … but it seemed strange that she would dispatch an underling to handle something as mighty as the Holocron - there was no guarantee this intruder wouldn't just make off with the relic herself.

She turned once more to her apprentice. "You didn't see her do anything with the Holocron? Hold it? Touch it?"

"Forgive me, master. She overwhelmed my mind. There were a few minutes that I do not remember - all I know is when I came to, I found her standing over the Holocron - it looked like she might've dropped it."

Lethe arched a curious brow. "She overcame even your mind? I've touched it myself, you remember. Your mental defenses are nothing to scoff at."

"Her power should not be underestimated. I've never experienced anything like it," admitted Eris.

But something sounded off about Sierra's story. This whole scenario was filled with improbabilities and assumed the ridiculous - that this intruder had gotten past security without so much as a peep. That she had dominated the minds of both Thresh and Eris, without breaking a sweat … that she knew of the Holocron's existence beforehand, had known its exact location without any doubt, a secret that Lethe had only revealed to Eris herself.

"You said she compelled Thresh to erase her trail in the security logs and in the camera recordings. How is it that you learned of her plot?"

Eris looked taken aback at that question. "I … a vision in the Force. I could sense her presence. I came to investigate."

Lethe pondered her apprentice for a long while. She wanted to believe the girl, wanted to trust. Eris had been nothing but loyal - what reason could she have not to be?

But then … Lethe's suspicions had grown ever since she learned Tivan had died at Eris' hands.

The girl had begged her forgiveness, had claimed that the good doctor's life was taken by accident; that he had surprised her entering her quarters unannounced, that she had thought he was another assassin sent by the real Siphon to finish the job. She blamed her poor reaction on nerves. Lethe could hardly fault her after what had happened in the battle: her loss of control over the Holocron, how she had almost sapped Eris' life force from her along with their true enemies. And so she dismissed her concerns, forgave the girl and moved on. She still needed her loyalty, after all. With Hadrax and Cyriak and the real Siphon all on the loose, she needed all the allies she could find.

But a seed had been planted. And no matter how hard Lethe tried to weed it out, it could not be uprooted.

"I will count my blessings you were present to foil this intruder's plans then," she finally said.

Eris bowed her head. "I only did my duty."

In the back of her mind, Lethe wondered how long she could ignore her gut.

"Interrogate the prisoner," she commanded after a short pause. "Find out how she knew of the Holocron. How she knew exactly where to look for it. And what she wanted with it. If she meant to steal it, why not leave as soon as you were incapacitated?"

"Interrogate?" asked Eris, her expression one of impossible naivete.

"Use whatever means necessary."

"I … apologies, master."

What was it now?

"I just have very little experience with that sort of thing. Perhaps Lord Astraad …"

Lethe wanted to roll her eyes. She was beginning to think she had coddled the girl for far too long. Eris had taken to questioning her commands of late. It was an annoying habit Lethe would need to quash soon, lest the girl forget her place. "Astraad is still recovering from his injuries, is he not?"

"Even so, he would be far more effective than I at such a task, master."

She lacked the patience to argue with her apprentice this day, and the girl had a point. Astraad was a renowned inquisitor and interrogator. Orthas had favored him for those skills in particular. "Fine. Send Astraad. Is there anything else?" she asked, not bothering to prevent a hint of annoyance from seeping into her tone.

" … how did your meeting with Lord Lector go, master?" asked Eris.

Why did Lethe feel like she was being probed for information?

" … It was illuminating. His powerbase is weakened, much as ours is, though he did an admirable job hiding his weakness."

"Weakened? Because of the ZLF?"

Lethe shook her head. "No. That was a cover story, much as it is in our situation. It seems Lector had his own share of traitors amongst his followers."

"He was betrayed as well? I thought he inherited Darth Cerber's mantle with overwhelming support from Cerber's disciples."

Lethe smirked, sending a jolt of pain through her face. Emotion was her sponsor and her enemy both. "Apparently those estimates were inaccurate."

"Was he amenable to our proposed alliance?" asked Eris.

"In his current condition, he'd be amenable just to claim he was approached for an alliance. Tying our fates to his powerbase would be risky, but I let him believe I would take the matter into consideration. We might be forced into it, with the state of things here, but I would not have him think we are on the beggar's side of this negotiation."

"The interview you suggested with Adasta Daily News seems to have had its intended effect," offered Lethe. "Agent Thresh is reporting an eighty percent decrease in holonet chatter concerning the Citadel. If there are vultures waiting to strike, they should be feeling a bit less certain about the ease with which they can capture our spoils."

Lethe nodded. "That was Astraad's idea actually." It was a rather ingenious move, Lethe had to admit. It neutralized several problems at once - she could delay her response to Hadrax and Cyriak's revolution, while at the same time warn away other rivals from watching her with overly hungry eyes. The reports of seditionists making moves against strongholds across Ziost seemed to come daily now … as though they were building to some grand epiphany. It was a small gift that Lethe could use their prolificity as part of her defense against her enemies.

She wondered for a second how many of these reports were also ruses, meant to distract from the truth as hers was.

"What of Hadrax and Cyriak?" she asked suddenly.

"All reports indicate that they've holed up at Twinspire. They haven't done much other than reinforce their position there."

"The cowards. Cyriak always was a simpering prig ... but Hadrax. I'm surprised his tongue can still speak given the amount of hypocrisy he's spewed out his throat."

Sierra agreed, "They remember what you did to Hadrax, my lord. Your power far-surpasses them. It's why they avoided joining the impostor's confrontation."

"Hmph. None of them are done. They are all plotting moves against me. It's only a matter of time. We need to strike first."

" … How, master? Thresh hasn't found any sign of Lord Rend or the impostor. And Hadrax -"

"- still has over half of our forces. If we try to take the Citadel by Force, I could end up gutting my own powerbase. No. We have to ensure the blow lands solely on the upstarts who led the rebellion. Once the leaders are cut down, the rabble will fall in line."

Eris bowed her head again. "Yes, my lord."

I believe we're done. Make sure Astraad knows his task."

"I … of course, master," said Eris, wisely choosing not to press her luck.

"Go. I wish to be alone."

Her apprentice hurried out the door. Lethe turned back to the Holocron of Ancient Sorcery, still floating in midair before her. It had almost been stolen, if not for Eris' timely intervention. No, Eris claimed it was a vision from the Force, her sensory abilities detecting another sith come to steal what she had sacrificed almost everything to obtain. It was coincidence then … luck.

Lethe did not believe in luck.

The security footage from both within and without her quarters had been deleted - Thresh claimed he must have been compelled by the intruder to do so; he had no recollection of the sabotage. But what troubled Lethe more was that even the secret security camera she had specially installed had been destroyed. No one other than Eris knew of its existence - not Astraad, not Citadel security, not even Thresh. Lethe had only told her young disciple and had specifically warned her not to reveal its existence.

Of course, it was possible that the interloper now in her holding cells had somehow managed to detect the miniature camera and destroy it.

But was it likely?

The Holocron whispered at her. On the surface, it looked as it always did: a small pyramid inscribed with Sith runes, housing an endless vault of knowledge. It felt the same to the touch - unnaturally cold, as though it was made of ice. But probing at it through the Force felt different now, as though something had changed within.

She read the inscription that she had long since memorized by heart:

 _Ancient is our power;  
Boundless, our ambition.  
All who would defy us,  
know only submission._

The words spoke of great and terrible secrets. Of Sith who had survived centuries, had achieved impossible dominance. Lethe reached for them through the Force as she had done so many times before. After what Siphon and Rend had done to her, after Hadrax and Cyriak's betrayal - she no longer had a choice. She needed strength … and the Holocron had proven itself beyond any doubt. Compelled by Lethe's sorcery, magnified by the Holocron, even the real Siphon had been forced to kneel.

It wasn't enough. She needed more if she was to restore her powerbase and eliminate her enemies once and for all.

… she hesitated. She remembered the hallucinations. The delusions. Despite everything, she had not forgotten that sense that the Holocron was somehow overwhelming her control, defying her will. As though it was alive, had desire and ambitions all its own. It troubled her; she was no fool. She did not expect power to come without a price.

The only question was whether she could afford to pay.

Reflexively, she probed the Holocron with her mind. She felt its boundaries and edges, searching for passageways into all of its complexity, ciphers to a puzzle only half-completed. It was then that she touched upon something new. A key to a lock she hadn't known existed. She felt doors swing open, a tidal wave of secrets pour forth. Exhilaration wrapped around her heart, dissipating all worries, all care. The promise of boundless knowledge drowned the voice in her mind that told her this discovery could not be a coincidence. Caution, thrown to the wind. Concern, dismissed beneath her. What were they, but barriers to the solution she sought?

Visions of the past, the present, the future seized her mind.

She saw her apprentice at a child's age, happy, dancing with someone who looked her father.

She saw Rend and their former master, squaring off atop a rocky outcropping in a climactic duel.

She saw Hadrax and Cyriak, bent to their knees, whimpering, pleading for their lives.

She saw them consumed. Swallowed by the Holocron. Devoured until there was no trace of them left. No bodies to be buried. No ashes to be scattered.

No legacy to be inherited.

She saw herself infused with the Force - beyond defiance.

The Holocron spun in place, whistling in its furious revolutions. Words carved themselves into it, a new inscription to join the old, golden and absolute, a promise that could not be broken:

 _Satiate our hunger;  
Herald our paradise.  
All who would strive for us,  
Know only sacrifice._

This was the key. This was the answer she needed. The power! She could see it, clear as day, bright as a star at the apex of its cycle. The Holocron could give everything that she wanted … as long as it received in return.

All it demanded was the lives of her fellow Sith.

Lethe paused. The Holocron froze in place and then collapsed once more to the ground. It did not bounce. It never did, however many times it fell; always, it fell into place like it was drawn by magnetic fields. With purpose, grave and unswayed by physics.

Could she really sacrifice her fellow Sith for her own gain? She had been content to sacrifice parts of herself, her identity, her appearance, her health. But to sacrifice another? Others, even? This seemed even to her a step too far, a bridge beyond what she could forsake.

Her way, the way of reform, of unity … she thought she had left it behind, but it was not until now - now, that it was put to the test - that she finally realized it would not be so easy. Her vision of a rejuvenated Empire, reborn on the foundation of allegiance and fealty still shined as bright as the sun, beckoning to her. It was what she had promised herself, had promised Re'tra.

Threats had to be dealt with … but did they have to come at the cost of her dreams?

Her thoughts were interrupted by her holocom. It was Thresh.

"My lord, I'm sorry to disturb you, but we are receiving incoming communication from Twinspire Keep."

"Direct it to my quarters." She would hear what her betrayers had to say … and reveal nothing of the close call that had just happened within the Citadel. There was no sense in revealing more information than necessary. For all she knew, the traitors knew nothing of the Holocron at all.

Thresh did as commanded and soon Lethe stared at a shimmering holographic image of her upstart disciple Hadrax.

"Come to beg my mercy?" asked Lethe.

Hadrax laughed, though the sound lacked any modicum of amusement. "Your impostor did quite a number on you, didn't she? I wondered if the metal might've also melted what small amount of brain matter you might possess."

"You fling words at me because you fear facing me in combat, Hadrax," countered Lethe. "You've learned much from your friend Cyriak."

Lethe enjoyed a thrill watching Hadrax's face visibly infuriate at the less-than-subtle suggestion of his cowardice.

"You've always underestimated me. It's why your council has been reduced to a paltry two members!"

"And yet you're the one who's taken to the company of cravens and sycophants. If you're trying to get me to lower my measure of you, I must say, you've succeeded beyond my wildest imagination."

"Enough!" hissed Hadrax. "I did not engage this transmission to trade barbs with a false Sith! I came to offer a challenge."

Lethe smiled, forgetting for a moment that her mask was impervious to revelations of emotion. "You? Offer me a challenge? That's ... quaint."

Hadrax continued, undeterred. "Orthas' legacy has been damaged enough by your influence. I'm certain you agree that the best way to resolve this conflict between us is a duel. You against me. No interference. No holds barred. The greater Sith will emerge the victor and will formally assume control of the powerbase."

There was sense in that. Twinspire and the Citadel both were already gravely weakened - preserving what remained would be an integral part of remaining relevant as a Sith Lord of prominence on Ziost. But she did not trust Hadrax would keep his word. Not after his treachery.

"Do you really believe I am so easily deceived? Fool me once, Hadrax … never again."

Hadrax smiled, wide. " … who's the coward now?"

"There is a difference between cowardice and intelligence, Hadrax, though I don't fault your simple intellect for failing to understand it. How do I know Cyriak and the rest of your rabble will honor this bargain? I had terms with Orthas as well … and I see plainly where that has led."

"Bring your soldiers then. Bring your armies. But it won't be me who's accused of cowardice."

" … if it's not cowardice, then it's idiocy. Have you forgotten the last time you tried to challenge me?"

Hadrax scoffed. "You think because you took me by surprise once, that you can do so again? Come then! If you're so unafraid, why not come prove yourself?"

Lethe needed little time to consider. She would go.

But she would not be unprepared.

"I will approve the location. We meet on neutral ground within the week, alone. To the victor go the spoils."

The smile on Hadrax's face grew so wide, it became unnerving. "Then we have an agreement."

Lethe smiled as well as she terminated the holocall. The only agreement Lethe intended to fulfill was the promise she made to herself. Before the week was over, Hadrax and his followers would be firmly under her heel once more.


	24. Interlopers - Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

* * *

 _The Valley of Mirrors, Ziost_

Snow fell all around Lethe and her apprentice in thick, unrelenting waves.

They stood upon Ziost's Valley of Mirrors, so named because the vast sheets of ice underfoot served as uncanny reflective surfaces. Besides the frost, there was little out here in the wilderness other than towering rock formations covered in snow and the cavernous cries of snowscape stalkers echoing across the landscape. The world was still here, unmoving; the cold seemed to want to whitewash away any disturbance to the pristine canvas of their surroundings.

Her shuttle had settled down not far from her current position. The valley found itself approximately halfway between the outer limits of New Adasta and Twinspire Keep; this was the suggestion Hadrax had proposed for their duel. It seemed appropriate that he would determine the place of his ultimate defeat. A place where he could reflect upon his failures with the aid of nature. It would be the perfect spot to finally smack down the upstarts who sought to usurp her throne.

She watched as Eris drew up a hood and mask to shield herself from the freezing temperature. Lethe didn't bother doing the same - the cold was welcome now, numbing the fire that consumed her face. Instead, she folded the arms of her robes into each other as her right hand sought the secret hiding place she had stitched into her left sleeve.

It was there. The miniscule pyramid that harbored untold secrets. The Holocron of Ancient Sorcery.

She carried it with her everywhere now. It never left her body or her sight. She didn't trust it anywhere else. Not after Lord Beral's incursion. Not after her apprentice -

"Here, master?"

Lethe nodded to her disciple. "Have Thresh confirm the location to Hadrax's people. We fight to the death here."

"But why here, specifically?" asked Eris. "Why would Hadrax propose this location? Why not somewhere more advantageous? This is ... awfully remote."

Was the girl questioning her capabilities? "I have the advantage in single combat. Hadrax has made a grievous error with this challenge; he won't last ten minutes against me. I won't let his mistake - this opportunity - pass by. "

"We should not underestimate him, master. Can we trust that he will hold to the terms of this engagement?"

Another lesson she did not need to learn from her own apprentice. Lethe knew full well the skill a disciple of Orthas could possess. She had faced the master himself, after all. Even united with Rend, Lethe had been hard-pressed to defend against the Darth's unrelenting assault. She watched him kill Rend without batting an eye - or so she thought at the time - and had been forced to flee the battlefield to save her own life.

But that was ages ago. That was before the Holocron.

Eris really was growing far too bold.

"I trust in his base instincts," said Lethe, glancing out into the distance, eyes seeking the Keep she had once called her home. "Hadrax is a man captive to his pride. It won't let him do anything but face me alone."

"Even with everything he has at his command?"

She turned back to her apprentice. "Men like him think themselves invincible because of arbitrary qualities like the purity of their blood. They can't fathom that they could lose to anyone they view as their lesser. Even when they are humiliated, even in the face of uncompromising reality, they will find a way to justify their failure, their loss, their defeat. Their ego demands it. And so he can never concede that I could be his superior ... It's why he never accepted my rule, not really. And why he is doomed to fall."

Eris's expression continued to harbor skepticism. "Hadrax knows your power. Would he walk willingly into single combat? This has to be some kind of trap. Pride might be his weakness, but pride does not preclude intelligence. It all just seems … too easy."

Lethe had enough. _"Too easy?_ You think this has been easy?"

Her apprentice finally understood her error. "Forgive me, Darth Siphon, I mis-."

"You think that recovering the stolen half of our powerbase is simple? You think that having an impostor sear a prison of metal and anguish upon my face is easy?!"

"No, I -"

"I think it's time you remembered who is the master here and who is the apprentice!" In a single, vicious stroke, she activated her lightsaber and swept it forward in the first step of Niman.

Fear burgeoned in the girl's eyes. "Master? What are you doing?"

"Draw your weapon, apprentice. Let us train."

Eris hesitated, but Lethe was fast losing all patience she had for the girl. She lunged forward with her blade, swiping upwards in an attack targeted at the girl's neck. Eris leaped back, her speed and agility as impressive as ever. Still, she refused to draw her blade.

"You should rest and conserve your strength!"

The arrogance was astounding. Still, the girl thought she could tell her master what to do.

Lethe wasted no more breath. She pelted the girl with a torrent of snow and ice drawn from all around them, taking grim satisfaction in the grunts that accompanied every impact upon Eris' form.

"Please, master! Stop!"

"Fight! Fight me or perish!"

Eris sidestepped out of the line of fire, but landed on a particular slippery sheet of ice and slid for a meter before she managed to steady herself. Lethe wasted no opportunity. Above them, a giant frost-covered boulder hurled itself at Eris' new position, commanded through the Force. Instinctively, the girl whipped out her weapon and hurled it in a wide arc to intercept the massive projectile. The blade bifurcated it; as gravity and momentum diverted the two halves' trajectories, Eris leaped into the air, forcing her body into a horizontal spin - passing through the narrow width harmlessly - as her hood flew free of her head.

The girl caught her weapon as it returned to her by the power of the Force. Lethe took a second to admire her apprentice's undeniable skill before launching into another attack. This time, she stepped into Makashi, delivering a series of rapid-jabs with the tip of her own saber. Eris countered them with a sloppy Shii-Cho, leaving openings Lethe could see coming far in advance.

She parried each of her apprentice's wild swings easily; compared to the masterful union of acrobatics, lightsaber skill, and the Force she had just witnessed, these incoming attacks were child's play, not worth the effort expended to swing the saber. The follow-up came with even less precision, blade swung wild and careless. Lethe swatted them aside like gnats, then

Something wasn't right. Lethe knew Eris was capable of more than this pathetic display.

Could she be so foolish as to think she could throw this trial without consequence?

A chill crawled down Lethe's spine even in the frigid cold that permeated her bones. It was followed by a burst of rage. "Have you forgotten your place so completely? You have the audacity to hold back in a contest against me?!"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Master please!"

Sierra's eyes reflected bewilderment, but Lethe could see behind their cerulean mask. "Don't lie to me! _Don't you lie to me!"_

All pretense of training fell by the wayside. In her anger, Lethe threw her lightsaber to the ground; she didn't even realize she had done it. The impact buried her weapon halfway into a thick patch of ice. She lifted both arms and then threw them forward, fingers spread wide to call upon all the knowledge she possessed, all the secrets she had gleaned.

All the power it could bring to her.

It came like a tide; she felt the Holocron's presence wrap around her heart and fill her veins with its gifts. The token in her sleeve emanated forth boundless waves of intoxicating darkside energy, vast as an ocean. Fickle as the sea.

Had they all forgotten? Had they all erased from their memory the Force brought to its knees by her will? Had even her apprentice come to view her with such low esteem that she thought she - a lowly lord and barely named at that, a slave in all but name! - could seek to caution Lethe? To doubt her? To hold back against her?!

She was Siphon reborn. She was a Darth.

Lethe slammed her hands down and Sierra's form came crashing downwards with them, compressed against the earth and the snow by an unseen palm. The girl screamed - in pain or shock, Lethe could only guess - but she was not done.

This apprentice that she once trusted beyond any other. That she took in, saved from Lord Rime, personally trained. Her kindness and her mercy were being repaid with condescension and deception. She would not make the mistake twice!

Her grip tightened over her apprentice. Once more Sierra cried out, this time in true agony. "Master, master please! Forgive my transgression, I spoke out of turn!"

But it was not just the boldness of her speech. The arrogance in her tenor. It was everything. Everything that had happened since the impostor's plot. Tivan's death. Sierra's preternaturally quick response to the intruder in Lethe's quarters. The disabling of all the hidden security cameras Lethe had installed.

Lethe could no longer trust her own personal apprentice. Could no longer hold her above suspicion. The woman with whom she had shared almost everything. The ally that was supposed to have her back at all times. The friend that was supposed to be the shoulder she could lean on.

 _Could she really be a traitor?_

"This isn't you! This isn't what you're fighting for, please! Don't do this! We're supposed to be better than the rest of them. We're supposed to show them a better way!"

The words struck a chord, a note of remembrance for something that felt like it was from ages past. An anachronism, brought to life once more. What was Lethe fighting for? Power? To do what? If not to reform, to rebuild, to teach anew … then what?

She released her hold over her apprentice. Surprisingly, the Holocron did not resist. No delusions. No hallucinations. Just obedience.

Slowly, Sierra stood to her feet once more. She was pale and Lethe could see the terror still etched in her eyes, but otherwise the girl was fine. "Thank you," she said slowly, before repeating it again. "Thank you."

Lethe didn't reply; instead, she made to return to their shuttle.

"It was the Holocron's power, wasn't it? What you summoned?"

 _Would the girl never learn?_

"My power," Lethe insisted.

"Don't you see, master? What it's doing to you? Each time you invoke it, you lose a bit more of yourself to it."

Lethe whirled back around, striding forward to Sierra. "I would be dead without it. So would you. The impostor would have struck us down, would have stolen everything we have - if not for it, you would not be standing here."

"It almost killed us all! Astraad. Me! Don't you understand? Its secrets, its knowledge - whatever they are - they go against everything that you aspire to!"

"Do not lecture me on what my own goals are."

Defiant, her disciple refused, ignoring the dangerous quiet of Lethe's tone. "What was it you said to me? That nowhere in the Sith Code does it say that there can be no unity among us, no reason, no loyalty. That those are ideals we must strive for! Please, you must remember!"

"Be careful, Sierra. You tread on thin ice and I'm not talking about this valley. Did you think I would forget my own ideology?!"

"Haven't you?!" screamed Sierra, so loud her voice echoed across the valley, so furious, Lethe forgot her own anger for a second.

"I see what the Holocron is doing to you. It's changing you, and not for the better. Master, please. I beg you. You don't need it to defeat Hadrax or Cyriak. Do not forsake everything you've sacrificed for -"

"You think you know anything about sacrifice?!" hissed Lethe. "Talk to me when you have a mask seared onto your face!"

"The Holocron did that to you! If you weren't trapped by its influence, Lord Rend would never have been able to-"

"Enough - _enough!_ Do not speak of this to me again. The Holocron is the only thing keeping my powerbase from collapsing. Without it, we will be devoured whole."

Sierra opened her mouth to object, and Lethe reacted by smacking her across her unprotected face with the back of her hand. The surprise blow silenced the girl, who gingerly lifted a hand to feel the already-reddening welt on her cheek.

"Have you forgotten where we are?" asked Lethe. "Whatever ideals we may believe, the Empire does not hold to them. Ziost does not hold to them. Not yet. Until then we have but one choice - survive, or watch as our ideology vanishes along with any influence we might have used to achieve our goals."

Her apprentice did not respond; her silence served as suitable affirmation. Lethe prayed that Sierra had learned her lesson. Disciplining apprentices was never something she enjoyed, but Sierra had crossed too many boundaries. Lethe had no choice but to remind her who was the master and who was the apprentice.

"Go back to the shuttle and let Thresh know to confirm the duel will take place here. One way or another, this rebellion will be settled. Either Hadrax wins and I die … or I win … and Hadrax is crushed beneath my heel."

Sierra started to move, but then stopped. Slowly, she turned and offered one last caution.

"This battle won't just determine your fates, master. It will decide the fate of all the powerbase. Perhaps all of Ziost. Of the Empire, of every one of us who believes there is a better way. A way for the Empire to unite. To be strong once again. Don't lose -"

"I won't."

" … I don't doubt that you will emerge the victor. But please, don't lose yourself to the Holocron. You don't need it."

Lethe watched as her apprentice disappeared into the shuttle. She could not deny the resonance of those last words. She still wanted to unite the Empire … but did she want that more than she wanted the Holocron's power?

There were two voices in her mind. Twins in tone and tenor, but their whispers were anathema to each other. One pleaded for her to listen to her apprentice, to take Sierra's words to heart, to recognize the precarious nature of the relic upon which she now so heavily relied.

The other voice dismissed the warning. It was obvious what was happening, why Sierra wanted her to forsake the strongest asset she still possessed. It was the Sith way, after all. Master and apprentice, in a constant competition for dominance. The girl sought to take what Lethe took from Siphon. She wanted the Holocron for herself. There was no other explanation.

After all the mystery, the deception, the uncertainty … what choice did Lethe have but to embrace the second voice? To submit her idealism, her naivete in trade for the only sure currency that the Empire valued?

It was then that it came to her like an epiphany, except this thought was not of inspiration, but that of cold understanding finally brought to light.

The revelation of a traitor.

It was Sierra who had told her of the Holocron from the very beginning. What was it that had happened that led to her discovery of the relic? If Sierra had not told her of it, Lethe might never have remembered it even existed. If she hadn't saved Sierra from Rime ...

But If Rime had not stumbled across the girl, Lethe never would have paid the slave a second passing thought. If Rime had not found her, taking a shortcut around Orthas' vault, they never would have met.

No. That wasn't quite right.

If Rime had not found her snooping, sneaking, spying around the vault … Sierra would never have been so close to claiming her prize.

The Holocron was what her apprentice had been searching for from the very day they met. Before even. The girl had followed it from Miro, and then to Orthas, and then to Siphon. To Lethe.

How could she not have seen it before?

She found herself striding for the shuttle, hands outstretched, already summoning the Force to do her will, to destroy Sierra. The cancer she had nurtured, had sheltered, had protected. It had all been a lie. All a deception so that Sierra could get closer to the Holocron.

How could she have been so foolish?

Did she really believe a slave with as much power as Sierra possessed would not want the Holocron for herself? Did she really believe anyone within the Empire would so quickly and easily be swayed to Lethe's line of thinking? She had felt it then too, had thought it was suspicious that Sierra was so eager to agree with everything she said, but she dismissed it in the wake of having found a precious rare ally. Not an ally. What she found was a snake. A sycophant. Worse than Cyriak. Worse than an enemy declared outright.

As Lethe's feet touched the shuttle's boarding ramp, she paused.

She could destroy Sierra here and now. Eliminate a threat. Remove a competitor from the board. But what would that serve? The Holocron was safe with her now, always at her side. They would have to pry it from her cold, dead fingers if anyone sought to take it from her. But with the relic's strength, she did not fear anyone. Not the real Siphon. Not Hadrax or Cyriak. And definitely not Eris. Not Sierra.

No. She closed her hands and released the Force from her will. She would not kill her apprentice. Not yet. Not when there were still so many unanswered questions. She would watch and wait for things to play out. For Sierra to make her next move. When she had concrete evidence and when she was sure no others would threaten her … then, she would close the gauntlet.

Then and only then.

"Is everything alright, master?" Sierra asked sullenly as Lethe stepped into the shuttle.

"It's fine."

The girl nodded before taking the pilot's seat in the cockpit. Her hands turned switches and inputted takeoff procedures. Lethe sat down behind her apprentice; she heard the roar of the shuttle's engines come to life as they lifted off of the Valley of Mirrors, beginning the hours-long journey back to the Citadel.

Lethe gripped the Holocron tightly in her hand. Looking upon the girl's form - even the back of her head - almost caused her to scatter her plans to the wind. The desire to punish - to avenge - was almost overwhelming. She forced herself to relinquish the hunger for her apprentice's blood. At least for now. Just for now.

If Sierra noticed anything out of the ordinary, she did not bring it up. "Thresh has confirmed the duel with Hadrax. Tomorrow -"

"Tomorrow," said Lethe. "Tomorrow, one of my betrayers will breathe his last."

 _And the rest of them will be next._


	25. Interlude 05

**Interlude**

* * *

 _Holding Cells, Siphon's Citadel_

Lord Beral woke to find herself strapped to a table, imprisoned in a cold and sterile holding cell lined with durasteel walls. A rack of what ostensibly should have been medical equipment had been wheeled in on a hover-cart, and a kolto tank sat not far off. What caught her amusement was the dessicated corpse that lay on the interrogation table just beside her. It displayed a wide assortment of injuries, not earned from battle. No, Beral suspected they had all been earned within this very chamber.

A prop, meant to instill fear.

 _Marvelous._

A sith pureblood hovered overhead, his arms - one cybernetic - securing the straps that imprisoned her. She knew his face from more than just the dossier Pallas had assembled for her: Lord Astraad.

Behind him, Agent Shiro Thresh stood with his own arms folded across his chest.

She started to speak, but soon realized they had gagged her. She hoped they would remove it soon. They probably would - what was the purpose of torture if not to elicit information? Her tongue would need to be free for them to gain any, and she did so want to speak.

It was all just so charming.

"Agent Thresh tells me your powers of mental persuasion are in a category all its own," said the sith pureblood, leaning inwards to speak to her ear. He smelled of saffron and cologne in overabundant quantities.

Beral shrugged, waiting impatiently for her captors to ungag her, drumming her fingers loudly against the table beneath her.

"I trust you are aware of what will happen to you if you try those tricks here?" asked the pureblood. If Astraad recognized her, he did nothing to acknowledge it. His cybernetic arm pointed first to the electric nodes clamped to her forehead - the signal which Beral quickly discerned was connected to a control port in Thresh's hands. The pureblood then conjured his own spark of electricity; it buzzed its eagerness to run amok, an akk dog waiting to be released.

Beral nodded.

Thresh made his displeasure at her prior coercion bluntly known. "Speak a single wrong word and I'll scramble the neurons in your brain in so many directions that you won't know how to sit down without defecating."

"There's no need to be vulgar, Thresh," admonished the pureblood.

"Lord Astraad, this b-"

Astraad clicked his tongue to silence the agent. "Shall we proceed?"

Grumbling, Thresh conceded. Astraad undid the gag around Beral's mouth and revealed her gleeful smile.

"You find this amusing?" asked Thresh.

Beral's smile only widened. "I do. Shall I assume I've earned a measure of respite for answering your question truthfully?"

Thresh's fingers looked poised to input the command sequence that would send a torrent of pain down Beral's nerves, but the look Astraad sent him stopped him in his tracks. "I think this session will be more productive without your presence, Agent."

"My lord, I beg your indulgence. She is due humiliation for what she did to me!"

"Retire, Thresh. _Now."_

Fury splashed across the agent's face in unrepentant waves as his hands balled into fists, knuckles whitening under the strain. Still, the agent knew better than to challenge a Sith. He retreated from the cell, leaving behind his datapad and his dignity. He was not in poor company; few retained such meager possessions in Beral's presence.

Jovial snickers escaped her lips in brief bursts. "Finally, alone at last. Do you intend to ravish me, Lord Astraad? Is that why you sought privacy?"

Astraad glanced upwards; Beral followed his gaze to an active security camera that kept them in full view.

"Don't tell me you mind an audience," chided Beral.

"I'll ask the questions," said Astraad curtly. "Darth Siphon is very interested to know what you were doing in her quarters. What were you doing in a place you do not belong?"

Beral forcibly swallowed a smile. It would not do to be too flippant. She wanted her interrogator to be forthcoming in providing her the information she sought. Angering him would serve only to get him to clam up. "I would've assumed that was obvious, my dear friend. I sought the Holocron of Ancient Sorcery."

His lack of a reaction to that revelation was more than illuminating. "And how did you know where to find it?"

"I had a friend search for it. I believe you were preoccupied with an assault on your Citadel at the time. He told me it was quite the simple task all things-considered."

"Who is your friend?" He glanced to the security camera again before returning his attention to her. "Are you in league with Hadrax? Cyriak? The impostor and her cohorts?"

Beral smiled as she shook her head at each proposed co-conspirator. "Those meager conflicts hold little of my interest. You should know better."

Astraad smirked. "Why would I know that? I wouldn't put it past a thief to meddle in affairs that were not their concern."

"You wound me. I am no thief and I never claimed to be such."

"So you sought the Holocron merely for a private viewing?" Astraad offered a wry smile, then raised a spark of electricity in his flesh and blood hand. "Somehow I find that hard to believe."

"You're asking all the wrong questions, my good friend. My fellow patriot. I know you think I'm your adversary, but I'm here to help you."

"Well. Isn't that helpful." Beral's interrogator widened his own smile, and then surged the jolt of electricity into her.

Even convulsing under the power of Astraad's attack, Beral found the pain exhilarating. Exquisite. The air filled with the smell of singed flesh and burning hair - sensory ephemera that only heightened her sense of delight. She had underestimated this one; he held no small amount of knowledge after all. But unlike Siphon and her lackeys, Beral did not fear being wrong, at least so long as her mistake enlightened proved interesting.

Astraad released his conjuring and paused a few moments for Beral to catch her breath before continuing, glancing once more to the security camera. "Perhaps you wish to be of further aid. What do you know about the Holocron?"

"I know many things. I know it will be the key to your master's undoing."

Astraad smirked in response. "And you know this how?

Beral wanted to cackle, to scream in ecstasy. She held herself back. It wasn't the right time, not yet. Close, but not yet. "Just wait and see. It will become all too evident very quickly."

Another surge of electric Force cascaded through Beral's form. Her limbs spasmed independent of her body, so violent that she thought for a second they would snap free of their bindings. Astraad meant business, but that did little to lessen her amusement. He had already told her so much in such few words.

They were being watched of course. That was why Astraad continued to glance at the security camera. It was only natural that Thresh would not have allowed a simple directive from a Sith to deny him the enjoyment of watching her suffer. If he could not witness it firsthand, it was obvious he would seek his succor elsewhere. Astraad indulged the man his sadism. Feigning agony was the least Beral could do to relieve Thresh his vengeance.

The scream that loosed from her tongue sounded so real, she almost fooled herself.

"Had enough?"

It wasn't all she had learned. Every word out of Astraad's mouth - or lack thereof - hinted at a deeper meaning. Beral delighted in gleaning secrets from her torturer in this fashion. It was an irony that fed her desire.

Panting, she inserted a desperation into her voice. "You should really be looking at the girl Sierra."

"Lord Eris?" Astraad half-corrected, half-mused. "And why should I be concerned about her?"

"I found her in Siphon's personal quarters, her adorable hand in the cookie jar, just about to steal your master's most-prized possession.

Astraad didn't seem phased at all. "And I should believe you because of your sterling reputation for honesty?"

"Believe me or no. What matters is you do not ignore me."

Her torturer glanced once more to the camera. "Every word out of your mouth is suspect."

"Then it would seem interrogating me serves no purpose."

"My apologies," said Astraad. "I should have been more clear. _Pain_ will draw the truth from your spittle."

Another surge of power coursed through her veins, captivating in its intensity. She reveled in it, cackling as the lightning concluded its tortuous dance.

"You've all been fooled! The girl's deceived you all this time and none of you have been any wiser!"

"And why would she do that?"

"I suppose you should strap her to a table here and find out," mused Beral. "I'm not here to do your job for you."

Astraad snarled as his cybernetic hand closing around her throat. "Don't toy with me, _Beral!"_

She managed a taunt even as she struggled to draw breath. "Is this all that you can muster?!"

Suddenly, her pureblood interrogator released his grip. He took a slow moment to compose himself, adjusting his robes and slicking back his hair.

"Far from it," he finally said. "Your lack of cooperation is troubling. I'm afraid we will now turn to less pleasant methods of interrogation."

Astraad pulled the cart of medical equipment closer to himself. From her position, Beral saw surgical knives, syringes and bottled chemicals, as well as cruel-looking pliers and needles.

This is what she had been waiting for.

"Last chance," offered Astraad. "Tell me what you intended with the Holocron."

Beral licked her lips. "Don't be shy, my dear. Let's see what you can do."


	26. Interlopers - Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

* * *

 _The Valley of Mirrors, Ziost_

Lethe stood upon a vast, frozen lake that dominated the landscape of the Valley of Mirrors. The lake itself was mostly covered in snow, save for patches of ice that had been swept clean by natural eddies that coursed through the valley. The cold was all-consuming; Lethe's breath was visible upon the air, even as sunlight pierced the overcast sky. Otherwise, the area was deathly still; no snow fell upon her or the rest of the assorted congregants this day. It was as though nature itself held its breath, waiting to see what would happen here.

"We've scanned the area, Darth Siphon," a voice spoke to her via comlink. It belonged to one of her soldiers. "We've detected no signs of ambush or enemy reinforcements in the vicinity."

"Good. Inform me immediately if that changes," responded Lethe.

"Yes, my lord."

Behind Lethe, Sierra paced back and forth, her anxiety unhidden from her expression. Three apprentices followed in a similar pattern. A small contingent of their elite soldiers stood in formation behind them, holding ready blaster rifles, each looking more tense than the last. An Imperial walker brought up the rear, its turret swiveling as it switched from scanning the horizon to monitoring the group of sith assembled across the lake.

Hadrax stood at the forefront of the group, with Cyriak whispering in his ear. Hadrax had reverted to sleek and form-fitting attire, accentuated only by the long braid that hung behind his head. Cyriak, on the other hand, had decked himself out in silks and fine leathers dyed in regal - almost flamboyant - colors. Both of them sported a confidence that was unworthy of their stature, that belied their impending defeat.

A dozen sith - all purebloods - formed a semicircle around Lethe's two separatists, each brandishing scarlet lightsabers. Lethe recognized them all as disciples who had once followed Darth Orthas. They now followed Hadrax because they believed him to be the more worthy heir.

Lethe would show them their folly.

The two groups approached each other slowly, eyes watchful for any sign of ambush or sabotage. As Lethe and Hadrax closed the distance between them, they each ordered their respective forces to stand guard a distance back.

"I thought this was supposed to be a duel between us alone, Siphon. Or should I call you impostor?" asked Hadrax.

Lethe ignored the insinuation that she was not the real Siphon. An empty accusation, after everything that had happened. "How kind of you come to the battleground with my disciples in tow," she countered. "I would thank you, but I don't need their aid to put you in your place."

Cyriak offered one of his simpering smiles, then shouted: "We thought it best that there be witnesses to the ascension of a new master."

"Bold claims," said Lethe, continuing her advance. "But I've brought my own 'witnesses.' If they see any interference, we will broadcast your treachery to the rest of the Empire so that all who declare themselves Sith will know of your cowardice."

Hadrax pulled out his twin lightsabers and activated them. "It is not I who will be proven the coward here."

They stood only a few meters apart now. Lethe activated her own weapon with one hand while the other clutched the Holocron tight in her leather gloves. With it at her side, she would end this joke of a duel quickly and once more her house would be united.

"Any last words, Hadrax?"

"Last words? No. But I do have words I would share with you. You, the impostor. Usurper. _False Sith._ I will show you the might of Orthas' legacy! The Empire will know again the value of the pureblooded. All will know our superiority!"

With that, Hadrax launched himself into the air, a whirlwind of speed, lightsabers striking downwards in an overhead slash. Lethe screamed her fury; she shouldn't have given him the first strike. She swung her own weapon upwards to block, but the sheer strength of the Hadrax's attack almost pushed the blade of her lightsaber into her mask.

The pureblood smiled, crazed. He drew one blade back, and then drove it forward towards her gut. Lethe surged the Force into her legs, dashing back to avoid the strike. As her feet landed on solid ground once more, she made to draw strength from the Holocron. Just as she completed her conjuring, her opponent leaped forward, bounding toward her like a rabid akk dog.

She could end him here and now. But from the recesses of her mind, Sierra's words echoed into her core. Lethe already knew she couldn't trust her apprentice. But then … why did her words resonate with her so?

 _Each time you invoke it, you lose a bit more of yourself to it. It's changing you, and not for the better. Don't lose yourself to the Holocron. You don't need it._

Sierra was right about one thing. Lethe didn't need the Holocron to defeat Hadrax. Lethe was disciple to Siphon; she had assumed Siphon's very identity. Hadrax might be skilled, might even be the most prodigious apprentice to Orthas … but Siphon had beaten Orthas. And so would Lethe defeat Hadrax.

She would prove that fact to herself.

The roar of Hadrax's battlecry renewed her focus to the task at hand. Lethe recognized the initial steps of his Ataru attack stance. The man was impossibly fast; she could barely track his movements. She parried each of his strikes only at the last second; before she could return an attack of her own, he vanished, pirouetting away only to reappear at her side, behind her, above her, beneath her.

He thrust upwards at her neck from a crouching position; their blades had no sooner clashed than when he somehow appeared behind her back to swipe at her waist. Lethe caught the attack just in time, but too late to counter. It was clear his mastery of Ataru far-outclassed her own skill in Niman. Every time she moved to seize the offensive, Hadrax was already striking from another angle, another position: an acrobat overdosing on stimulants.

But speed alone would not afford him victory. Lethe soon recognized a pattern in his attacks. She waited for the right moment - an airborne overhead slash that left him without leverage to dodge - if she could just catch him then …

She saw her opening, and seized it. With both hands, she hurled him backwards through the Force, sending him flying. Lethe did not let up. Just as he was about to recover, she slammed her hands downwards, intending to crush him into the ice much the same as she had done to Sierra.

But Hadrax was defiant. He leveraged his body's downward momentum, amplified by the power of Lethe's Force attack, to punch the ice beneath him. Empowered by the Force, Hadrax's blows sent quakes rippling outwards. Lethe lost her balance and her grip over the pureblood dissipated.

In the second it took to steady herself, Hadrax was in the air once more, this time with only a single lightsaber, launching into a spinning slash. Lethe reflexes drove her to prepare a defense against the incoming assault, but instinct and the sound of an oscillating energy beam resonating from behind her saved her from a fatal mistake. At the last second, she whirled around to knock aside the lightsaber that Hadrax had directed to skewer her. In the next second, she turned back around to -

"Master, look out!" cried Sierra.

 _She did not need the girl's interference!_

"I HAVE YOU!" screamed Hadrax from above. The pureblood flipped his blade around in midair to drive it downward, the tip of his lightsaber desperate to plunge into Lethe's head. She couldn't move fast enough to bring her lightsaber up to deflect, didn't have the time to gather the requisite energy for tutaminis. All she could manage through the Force was to redirect Hadrax's trajectory so that his blade only grazed the side of her mask before driving into empty air.

The pureblood's body continued unabated, carried by momentum to slam into Lethe. His knee hit her gut as they both toppled over and Lethe almost vomited before they both collapsed onto ice and snow, their lightsabers flying from their grips. Both their weapons hissed angrily as they made contact with the frost before the blades retreated into the hilts. Steam rose in steady gusts around them as they struggled to disentangle from each other.

Hadrax was the first to get to his feet, both arms outstretched to summon his weapons back to his hands. But where Hadrax needed physical weapons, Lethe needed only her mind. Even winded, collapsed on the ground, she still had the strength to seize victory. She thrust her right arm upward in a gouging motion and in that instant, she knew she had won.

Frenzied whispers fled her tongue to assault Hadrax's mind: they were a crushing darkness, unbridled chaos, madness incarnate. The pureblood screamed his agony, his fear. His lightsabers flew to his hands, only to collide against unmoving palms and then fall to the snow unacknowledged. Instead, Hadrax began clutching at his head, his eyes, his face, clawing at his skin, desperate to peel out the affliction with which Lethe had cursed him.

"You think you are the heir to Orthas' legacy?!" She laughed, still panting for breath. "The only thing you've inherited is delusion!"

"Snap out of it Hadrax!" Cyriak shouted, unable to hide the panic from his tone. "Don't let her win!"

Lethe offered her betrayer no respite. Slowly, she got to her feet, one hand still affixing an iron vise around Hadrax's perception. With the other, she invoked the Force again, simultaneous but with different purpose. As her right hand lifted to steal from Hadrax his sanity, her left hand pushed down to take from him his defiance.

Hadrax sank to his knees.

 _All who would defy us,  
know only submission._

"Get up! _Get up!"_ screamed Cyriak.

Lethe had won.

She could kill him now. Could make him an example of the consequences of rebellion. She could end his threat once and for all. She could offer him to the Holocron, could use this traitor's life as a tribute to the Ancient Sorcery. What was it that it demanded?

 _All who would strive for us,  
know only sacrifice._

And yet, still the voice in her mind cried out for absolution. This was not her way. Mercy was the mother of unity. The progenitor of strength. She wanted to slay Hadrax, wanted to erase him from existence, but could she afford to sacrifice her ideals, even once?

So lost in thought, she almost didn't hear Sierra cry out: "Stop!" Almost didn't hear Cyriak shout "DO IT!" Almost didn't hear a high-pitched whining emanate from below, from an unknown source, shrieking its displeasure - it sounded remarkably like a thermal detonator.

She heard the explosion first before she felt it rock the world like an earthquake.

The ice beneath Lethe splintered, then cracked. Translucent lines snaked out like a spider's web from the epicenter of the detonation, fracturing the frozen lake below her feet. Lethe looked down. For a second, she watched as the reflection of Siphon's mask - the mask that was supposed to be bound to her face forever - shattered into a hundred pieces.

For a second, she thought she was free.

Then, she felt herself fall, tumble, collapse into a massive pool of freezing water. She couldn't find her lightsaber, didn't know if it had sank to the bottom of the lake or if had been knocked away on the surface. The shock of the cold demanded immediate attention and overwhelmed all other thoughts. Was this Hadrax's doing?! How could he have -

From above, she heard Hadrax's thundering voice through the water, crazed and furious even distorted through the lake: "What are you doing Cyriak?! She's mine! SHE'S MINE!"

"Don't stop, you fools!" screamed Cyriak. "Kill Siphon! Kill her now!

Even submerged in freezing water, Lethe felt the Force twist as Hadrax and Cyriak's disciples thundered forward. She knew what they were going to do - she thrust her arms into drawing a circle around her in the water; the Force did her will, pushing the liquid from her body so that she floated in a suspended bubble of air - just in time to see four surges of brilliant lightning surge into the lake, electrifying everything in its path.

Protected in her sphere, Lethe avoided the deadly trap - but the effort robbed her of so much strength. It was all she could do to surge upwards, using the Force to propel her out of the electrified water, landing shakily on a large patch of unbroken ice.

Still drenched and freezing, it took a moment for her to assess what had happened.

In the distance, Lethe saw her forces engage a throng of the separatist's Sith disciples - her own apprentices no match for Hadrax's training. Her walker managed to blast a few to smithereens, but it was quickly cut down by repeated lightsaber strikes to its mechanical limbs. The rest of her soldiers launched volleys of blaster fire at their Sith enemies, most to no avail, but their numbers seemed - for the moment - to occupy their attention.

Nearby, four corpses of Hadrax's disciples littered the frost-covered lake; Lethe suspected they were the ones who had sprung the lightning-infused trap. Not far from the bodies, Sierra had engaged Hadrax and Cyriak in vicious combat. She moved like a demon, possessed of unflinching resolve, but she was hard-pressed to seize any advantage in this lopsided contest. Every time she moved to attack, she was forced instead to defend another incoming assault. Curiously, Hadrax seemed just as intent on killing Cyriak as he did Sierra; his attacks launched against his fellow pureblood came in equal measure to the ones he threw at Lethe's apprentice.

"What are you doing?! I'm on your side!" screamed Cyriak.

"I told you not to interfere, snake!"

"You would be dead without me, you bantha-brained fool!" retorted Cyriak. "She had you on your knees!"

"Cowards!" screamed Lethe. "You betray the terms of our duel, just as you betrayed the terms of your master's Kaggath!"

Hadrax whipped around. "I betrayed nothing! Cyriak's head will follow yours, but I will not allow his treachery to steal this victory from me!"

"Did you really think I would let our fates be decided by a duel?!" sneered Cyriak, before turning back to his fellow rebel. "This is your chance Hadrax! Take Siphon while I finish off her whelp!"

Hadrax snarled at Cyriak, but turned back to Lethe all the same. He had retrieved his weapons, and the energy beams sizzled at the base, where they had gotten wet in the earlier skirmish.

"Don't tell me you still think you can win?" asked Lethe, hoping the pureblood would not see through her bravado. The strain of the last few moments was already sapping the strength from her exhausted limbs.

"I don't think. I know."

"No, you don't think, do you?" Lethe sniped. "You only have your base prejudice and its dictates, the false ideologies that Orthas implanted in you, the undeserved arrogance of a buffoon playing at significance."

Hadrax roared. "I will cut the tongue out from your mask!"

But Lethe would not let Hadrax get the first move again. Her weapon lost, she only had the Force to do her bidding. She molded her hand into a claw and thrust it upwards, seeking to latch onto Hadrax's mind once more, to return him to that quivering, pathetic state on his knees. But the pureblood was ready this time, dodging Lethe's invoked power and charging forward to return the contest to one of close-combat.

Lethe would be at a distinct disadvantage if she had to face his Ataru without her weapon. She empowered her feet, forced them to move, but the exertion was excruciating - Lethe's strength fled her body with increasing speed. Her movements and reflexes slowed to a dangerous crawl. Hadrax did not lack for stamina, driving forward to assault her with incredible agility, as though he stood refreshed and renewed.

Her eyes darted around the area for her lightsaber, but it was nowhere to be found, camouflaged by the ice and snow of her surroundings. Her options were fast becoming limited. She couldn't let him get in striking distance, not while she was still unarmed. She directed a turbulent blast in his path of movement, but Hadrax seemed now somehow prescient of her strategy. Even as her arm extended, the pureblood sidestepped out of harm's way and then continued on his course, unabated.

Dread curled its skeletal fingers around her heart.

She still had the Holocron. If she could just summon its power in time, bring its full might to bear against Hadrax, he would be nothing! She thought she didn't need it, but now was not the time to quibble over pride. She needed to reenact that moment with the real Siphon, that moment she laid her old master low.

A current of wind howled through the valley as she felt the power rise in her chest, spread through her circulatory system to infuse her with living Force, with ancient and boundless knowledge. All that was left was to direct it. Hadrax continued his charge - he was almost upon her. Her hands inched forwards to unleash her attack, so slow, too slow! They moved as though drowned in a sea of molasses even as one of Hadrax's lightsabers lanced forwards, impossibly quick, a blur of motion and deadly intent.

She wasn't going to make it.

Hadrax screamed. "Unworthy scum!"

It was all she could do to convert the Holocron's attack into a barrier at the last second; sparks exploding outwards as the scarlet lightsaber collided with pure Force.

She had almost nothing left. The well was almost dry, her reserves of strength sapped to near their limit. She had no time to summon more from the Holocron again. She had no defense.

Hadrax raised his other lightsaber high into the air, mouth stretched wide in triumphant glee. "So ends the reign of Darth Siphon!"

 _No. Not like this!_

So certain was Hadrax of his victory, that he didn't notice the whirring blade of a lightsaber arcing towards him, flying through the air, whistling its intent.

Not until it severed the hand holding his lightsaber from his arm.

Lethe didn't understand at first - and she could tell neither did Hadrax. The glee on his face turned slowly to disbelief, to shock, to indignation. Lethe turned to see Sierra racing towards them, eyes locked on her apprentice's outstretched hands, hands that had flung the lightsaber that now arced back towards her with victorious declaration.

But she hadn't asked for Sierra's help. She didn't want it. She didn't need it. The girl had stolen Lethe's victory, had tainted the duel just as Cyriak did.

Hadrax screamed his agony. "How - how dare you?! I am pure of blood, _I am a true Sith!_ You are an impostor, a fraud! You can't win!"

 _"I can!"_ Lethe summoned what power she still had, empowered by fury, charged by rage. She gripped the base of Hadrax's skull through the Force, so violent that he lifted off the ground for just a second. Then she closed her hand into a fist, squeezing, choking, suffocating. Hadrax's eyes bulged in terror; Lethe watched as the man tried clawing at his neck, still suspended in above the ground, one hand missing, pawing at empty air.

"No!"

The cry came from Cyriak. It was Lethe's turn to be caught unawares as a torrent of Force Lightning surged into her body, racking her torso, her limbs, seizing her mask, amplifying unbearable pain.

Hadrax's unconscious body dropped to the ground in a crumpled heap.

"I will never bow to you again!" shrieked Cyriak as he continued to surge electricity into her. Lethe wanted to scream, but the sound erupted from her mask in distorted and shuddering wheezes. She could not be defeated like this. Not like this.

Suddenly, the pain stopped. It took a second for Lethe to realize what had happened - Sierra had used the Force to throw Cyriak back, interrupting his attack. The sycophant landed on his feet, limbs ready to throw himself back into battle, but his eyes darted first to assess the situation. Lethe did the same as Sierra threw herself in front of her in a defensive stance, panting heavily.

Lethe's own forces were all-but demolished - their corpses strewn about in a bloodless massacre, but of the disciples Hadrax and Cyriak had brought with them, only three remained standing far in the distance. Lethe couldn't identify them, hadn't recognized them earlier. Two against four. In normal conditions, Lethe would not have hesitated to take them on - but weakened as she was by Cyriak's treachery, she was no longer sure she could emerge the victor. She was exhausted, panting for breath, vision blurring. If they were to unite against her -

"This isn't over," hissed Cyriak. With one hand, he summoned Hadrax's body to him, swinging the unconscious pureblood's form over his shoulder. He then slowly backed away a few steps before racing to rejoin his remaining apprentices while signaling a retreat. Some things didn't change. Cyriak was still a craven.

Sierra started to bound after them, but Lethe would not have it. "Stop!"

"I can take them, master! We can end this here and now!"

"They are mine! Let them run. They cannot hide from me forever."

"But Darth Siphon -"

Lethe screamed. _"You will do as I say!_ I don't need your aid to defeat these whimpering vermin, I never did! Who asked you to intervene against Hadrax? Who told you you could strike at him?!"

Sierra looked stunned. The words fled her mouth in disbelieving spurts. "M-master … I … I thought he was about to … I feared for your life."

It didn't matter if the words were true. It didn't matter that the outcome would likely have been far different had Sierra not intervened. Lethe knew only one truth. Because she did not leverage the Holocron … she had to be saved by her apprentice. Because of her foolish reservations, she suffered another humiliation.

Lethe didn't acknowledge Sierra's explanations. "We're going back to the Citadel. Get the shuttle ready."

The girl bowed her head and returned to the shuttle. Lethe watched her go, then turned to spot Cyriak and his remaining followers in the distance, scurrying to do the same.

Cyriak. The man's treachery knew no bounds. Lethe had no doubt that it was he who had planted thermal detonators beneath the lake surface in anticipation of Hadrax's defeat. A coward that was no fool. He knew Hadrax would not be able to take Lethe head on and had planned for that eventuality. If it weren't for his duplicity, Lethe would not have needed Sierra to secure victory.

Lethe cursed her shortsightedness - she should have known Cyriak would have something up his sleeve, something he kept even from Hadrax. The latter's pride would never have agreed to such a ploy; Lethe's mistake was in thinking Cyriak would let himself be shackled by his fellow rebel's ego. In many ways, the cunning sycophant was a far more dangerous opponent than the brazen egotist.

She would not make the same mistake. The time for reservation, for hesitation, for doubt … it was over.

She would not risk losing again.

Lethe watched as Hadrax and Cyriak's shuttle took off, departing into the horizon, before heading back to her own vehicle.


	27. Interlopers - Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

* * *

 _Siphon's Citadel, New Adasta_

Never had Sierra been so glad to return to the Citadel. As she made her way to her quarters, she could not help but let her thoughts drift to the look her master had given her when she interceded in the duel with Hadrax.

It wasn't a 'look,' exactly. Her master's true expression was forever hidden behind the now-distorted mask that could no longer removed. No, it was more the body language. The physiological response, the innate tics and reflexes that might go unnoticed to less-trained eyes. Sierra didn't miss a single one. In her line of work, a keen understanding of her status and standing among her superiors was critical in ensuring the veil she wrapped around herself was not penetrated.

That was why Siphon's reaction was so startling, even though the warnings signs had already grown to a deafening din.

Sierra struggled to understand how it happened. She had Siphon wrapped around her thumb, or so she had thought up until a few days ago. A change had come over her "master." A slow evolution, not discernable hour by hour, day by day. But she could sense it now, could feel it in her bones: the suspicion leveled at her from those vacant, empty eyes in her master's mask. The distrust that permeated every word spoken.

What had changed? How had she gone from being Siphon's most favored apprentice to the one she seemed to hate the most?

She was sure Siphon had believed her story about why she "accidentally" killed Doctor Tivan. That had been Sierra's most egregious mistake. To let one of Siphon's lackeys overhear a comlink transmission to her true loyalties: she was lucky to not have been revealed then and there.

Fortunately, the Darth had just survived a traumatic battle and had lost half of her powerbase in one fell stroke. Anyone in that situation would've wanted to hold onto whatever she could. So badly did the Darth need to cling to professed loyalty, Sierra suspected that she could have spun a tale that Tivan was a Hutt in disguise, spying for the Cartel, and Siphon still would have believed her.

No, it wasn't the good Doctor's death.

The answer was simple: it all came back to the Holocron of Ancient Sorcery. Something about it was changing Siphon. Twisting her thoughts. Corrupting her ideals.

Of all the Sith Sierra had encountered in her life, Siphon was unique among them. She professed an ideology that was not slave to malice and barbarity. She believed in the strength of unity, aspired to an Empire that did not see backstabbing and infighting as the norm. This was a philosophy Sierra could get behind, revolutionary ideas that could see an Empire reformed.

In another life, she might even have truly professed fealty to the Darth.

Not anymore. Not since the impostor's attack. Not since Siphon had grown enamored of the Holocron to the point of obsession. More often than not these days, she found her master studying the relic in silence, barely moving, eyes glassy and surrounded in dark side energy. And with every passing day, Siphon's ideals seemed no longer to be hers. They were being replaced by the very thing she once sought to overthrow. That they once promised to reject.

It had to be the Holocron.

Sierra shuddered, remembering the first hand experience of its all-encompassing power; it felt like she was being suffocated, except it wasn't just her lungs being denied oxygen, her neck being squeezed, her throat crushed. It was her whole body. Every organ, every cell - they all felt like they were being starved, choked, sapped of life. A few more seconds and everyone present in that battle would be dead, Sierra had no doubt. If the relic could inflict harm of that magnitude as well as manipulate and dominate someone so thoroughly that they would abandon their ideals, their work, their goals … what else could it do?

It was clear. The Holocron was the key to the puzzle she had been seeking to unravel for all this time. The answer to so many of her and her true master's questions, the reason for her placement on Ziost.

Her twin purposes now served the same goal. First, to get ahold of the Holocron, to steal it away.

The second, to return Siphon to her senses. For everything this curious Sith had done for her, freeing Siphon from the bondage of the relic was the least Sierra could do. She might not be able to offer her true loyalty, but for this Sith who once was a paragon among her kind - who sheltered Sierra and protected her when there was no need to do so - Sierra would break the Holocron's chains and save Siphon from herself.

She had to get ahold of it, had to take it away. In so doing, she would hit two birds with one stone.

But to do any of it, she had to learn more.

If only she had been able to spend more time with it, if only Lord Beral hadn't interrupted her, hadn't caught her in the act of trying to take it. She might already have her solutions already, and Siphon might still have considered Sierra her favored apprentice. Sierra would not be in the perilous situation in which she found herself.

If only Beral hadn't come for the Holocron.

Sierra hadn't been able to get her answers yet, but it was obvious who had them.

She reached her personal quarters but instead of walking in, she turned around. She strode once more through the hallway, reaching the turbolift and directing it to head towards the detention level. The holding cells.

Siphon had been right about one thing. That pureblood knew a lot more about the Holocron than she had said.

The turbolift whined its displeasure at being used again so soon; Sierra ignored it, tapping her foot impatiently. She forced herself to stop, almost by instinct, but then realized that she did not need to hide her restlessness here. Her true master would have frowned on such a display, but the persona she inhabited now did not need to curtail irritability. She was now the personal apprentice to a Darth, after all. She could do as she wanted.

By the time she decided she would let her foot tap as much as it pleased, the turbolift had already reached the detention level of the Citadel.

Of the whole Citadel, it was the detention center that was the most state-of-the-art. Indeed, while much of the fortress' still bore an archaic and overly traditional level of sophistication, the holding cells had been steadily upgraded and maintained. Orthas had seen to that - he seemed not to possess much of a sense of interior design, nor put much stock in keeping up with the latest fashions or trend, but he greatly valued keeping his prisoners and enemies secure in their cages. As such, save for Siphon's personal quarters and the armory, there were few levels that were as well-defended as the detention center.

Durasteel walls three meters thick encapsulated the entire floor, preventing outward or interior penetration by lightsabers. Even if the blades could pierce the metal, no lightsaber could extend long enough to breach the other side of the wall. Within the walls, holding cells equipped with the latest in forcefield technology aligned themselves in carefully positioned rows. A carbonite freezing chamber also made its home here, convenient in the event of unruly or uncooperative prisoners in need of transport.

In the event of prisoner escape, smart-turrets had been installed above the singular entrance, programmed to lock onto and incinerate anything or anyone designated as a prisoner by Citadel Security. And of course, there were guards standing at the ready to seize any escapees. Finally, security cameras had been installed to cover every square inch of the place, ensuring every word spoken, scream uttered, breath taken would be recorded and on file.

That last one would be a problem.

She briefly contemplated interrogating Beral out in the open, for all to see. Siphon had instructed her to do so after all, and Astraad hadn't had any luck extracting any information from the woman as of yet.

Still, Sierra hesitated.

With the way things were going with Siphon, the Darth's suspicions would likely only grow if Sierra were to volunteer for a task she had initially refused. That, and the truth was Sierra really had no stomach for the infliction of suffering. Torture wasn't how she intended to extract the answers she wanted from the interloper anyway. No, she intended a far more direct approach: leveraging the Force to pierce the woman's mental defenses and scoop the secrets from her mind.

Despite their previous encounter, Sierra was relatively confident that with both her own mental prowess and the focus nodes Thresh had placed on Beral's head - devices attuned to the Force that would shock the woman should she attempt to summon the Force herself - Sierra would be able to acquire the answers she sought.

Should anyone see her, however, it would raise questions that Sierra would be hard-pressed to answer, especially if it were recorded and the footage got back to Thresh or to Siphon. If Siphon already suspected something was off about her, Sierra had no wish to add fuel to the fire; she could not allow even the possibility that Siphon might see her mental prowess and start to doubt the backstory Sierra had concocted for herself.

No. She did not want this to be recorded.

Fortunately, she had come prepared. Her handler had provided her with several useful devices: a dataspike that could loop security camera video and disable audio feed. A second one that would hack the turbolift functions to skip over certain floors. And in the case of an emergency - a short-range EMP device that would knockout power to everything within a ten-meter radius.

Sierra hoped she wouldn't have to use the last one. Knocking out the power could help her escape detection, but it might also help Beral escape as well. She doubted she would be able to get the jump on Beral a second time.

 _One step at a time,_ Sierra told herself. _Let's not get ahead of ourselves. First up is the guards._

She approached the two guards standing watch around the holding cells. For all the defenses with which the detention level had been equipped, Sierra found it slightly amusing that only two of the cells were occupied at the moment.

"Lord Eris." The guards saluted.

"Who else is on patrol?"

One of the soldiers glanced to his compatriot before turning to Sierra to respond. "Just us, my lord. We're … a bit understaffed at the moment."

It was true. After Hadrax and Cyriak had fled, the Citadel found itself short-staffed in almost every department.

"I see. Is Lord Astraad interrogating the prisoner?" asked Sierra.

"He said he'd return in about half an hour. We can tell him you were looking for him if you wish, my lord."

Half an hour. It would have to do.

Sierra lowered her voice and then summoned the Force to do her will - it was tougher to toy with minds without the use of hand gestures, but she was still being recorded. Better to be safe than sorry.

"You did not see me here today," she said.

Both guards generously complied in a quiet monotone. "Yes, my lord."

Guards were always the easiest part.

Sierra nodded to both of her mind puppets and then hastened her way to a security console. There, she subtly inserted both dataspikes and programmed them. She ambled back towards the turbolift to leave a recording of her departure before she counted ten seconds and then promptly returned to the holding cells. Now the turbolifts would refuse to take anyone to the detention level and the security cameras would have a record of her departure from the floor while it looped footage of Beral's cell before Sierra had entered.

Lord Beral was now hers to interrogate as she wished.

Sierra approached Beral's holding cell slowly, passing the only other occupied cell. It held a another pureblood sith - one of Hadrax's disciples they had caught scouting the Citadel's perimeter. Sierra summoned the Force to overwhelm his mind. The pureblood collapsed, knocked out.

She needed no witnesses for what she was about to do.

Beral's confinement chamber itself was immaculate, save for the dried up husk of a humanoid lying on the interrogation table beside Beral's own. The room smelled of sweat and body odor - as well as the lingering scent of burnt hair and flesh. The distinct aroma of several chemicals - Sierra recognized truth serum, but not the others - flooded her nose. Astraad had clearly been hard at work.

Though she had been careful to tread lightly, Beral roused as she approached; metal restraints around the woman's ankles, wrists, waist and neck prevented her from doing much more than squirming a bit. She was massive; a looming pureblood sith that would have towered over Sierra had she been standing. Even lying on the interrogation table, the woman gave no indication that she found her accommodations disagreeable.

Her lips, cracked and dry, mouthed empty words. Her forehead appeared distorted, covered in burn scars and scorch marks. Someone had done a poor job of shaving her head recently, though Sierra suspected tidiness had not been high on their list of priorities. A shaved head did assist in the attachment of the mutiple Force foci that now adorned her head.

Sierra could only imagine the kind of torment this woman had suffered. She almost felt sorry for her … if not for the wide, brimming smile that emerged from Beral's face.

"Precious child. You've come to visit me."

Though it was Beral on the rack, Sierra couldn't help but feel a chill jolt down her spine. How could she be smiling after days of torture? Sierra had known stronger-looking men to have buckled within a single hour of being under Astraad's care, and yet this woman ...

She steeled her own resolve before speaking. "You will address me as Lord Eris."

Beral giggled, her voice cracking from her parched throat several times. "As you wish, _my lord._ Is that all you're here to do? To get me to acknowledge a title? Or are you here to continue Lord Astraad's good work?"

"I'm here for answers." Sierra chose her words carefully. She was still in the heart of an enemy's powerbase, after all.

"What a coincidence. So am I."

She allowed herself a smirk. "It doesn't seem like you're in a very good position to get much of anything."

"No, it doesn't, does it?" Beral grinned, unfazed.

Sierra had enough of this banter. It wasn't getting her anywhere. "Tell me what you know of the Holocron."

"Well, isn't that curious. Do you know that's the first time I've been asked that question in all my time here?"

 _That couldn't be right … could it?_

"Astraad's been so busy focusing on what I intended to do with it, how I knew where to find it. He never even bothered to ask me what I knew of it. That one is possessed of a singularly uncompromising focus, isn't he?"

"Tell me what you know of the Holocron," Sierra repeated. "Its powers. Its history. How it can be used … and contained."

"Where shall I start?"

Sierra blinked. What trickery was this? Could it really be so easy? "Its history."

"Very well, Lord Eris. Where to begin … "

Beral smiled.

 _No one knows exactly when the Holocron was created, except that it was centuries ago. Some have speculated that it was assembled during the time of the Jedi Civil War, when the fallen Jedi Revan and Malak trespassed into Sith space before it was known that the Sith still existed._

 _Rumors posit that the Holocron possesses near-unlimited power and vast stores of lost knowledge. That any Sith who partakes of even a sliver of what it has to offer will see their power increase tenfold. That those who submit themselves to its will would ascend to godhood. None could stand as their ri-_

Sierra cleared her throat. "I don't need these rumors spoonfed back to me."

"You did ask for its history." Still strapped to the interrogation table, Beral contorted her face into an expression of innocent naivete. Sierra forced herself to suppress her gag reflex.

"Cut to the chase," said Sierra. "What do you know beyond the old wives' tales?"

"I know that the Holocron's true master lived centuries ago. I know that he created the Holocron as a means to achieve a goal no one has ever achieved. I know that he feared that it would fall into unworthy hands and so he severed the Holocron into six pieces, six perfect cubes and locked its true power - as well as a part of himself - behind ciphers that would only reveal themselves when the time was right."

This was information that she could use. But could she trust it? Would Beral so freely give these answers to her when Astraad had gained nothing?

She pressed for more. "If this master was so powerful, why would he still fear losing the Holocron?"

"The fear proved clairvoyant, did it not?" mused Beral. "At some point, this ancient Sith lost the Holocron to treachery or deception and it has been denied to him ever since. But even so, the relic yearns to be with its true master. It has found its way from Sith to Sith throughout the ages, never for long, never content to remain by any unworthy sith's side. And they have all been unworthy."

That made sense based on what Sierra already knew of the Holocron. "From Miro to Orthas … from Orthas to Siphon," Sierra mumbled to herself.

"Miro?" asked Beral. "Darth Miro? No wonder its existence has become shrouded in rumor and mystery these last decades. Miro always was a coward. Of course he would be content merely to hoard such an artifact as a trophy rather than to leverage it as the tool, the weapon that it truly is."

Sierra wanted to slap herself. She needed to watch her words more carefully. "I'm the one asking the questions here."

"Ask away then, dear child."

The need for answers overwhelmed Sierra's urge to demand proper honorifics. "You said the Holocron's maker locked a part of himself into the Holocron itself? Is it his influence that drives its power? Is it his will that unleashes it? Can it … can _he_ overtake the Holocron's wielders?"

Beral smiled once more. "Clever girl. A lofty ambition, isn't it? What Sith would not dream of immortality even in such a fashion? To be able to chart the course of a thousand generations from beyond the shackles of a mortal body. The prison that is flesh and blood. Bones and -"

"That was the purpose behind the Holocron's creation then? The reason for its existence? So that this Sith could survive by interposing his will, superseding the minds of those who seek its power?"

 _"All who would defy him … know only submission."_ Beral's voice rasped, heavy with foreboding.

Cold surged down Sierra's spine. "You serve him. Who is he? What is his name?"

Beral did not answer, revealing only her pristine, white teeth.

Sierra felt the rage fester in her blood. The answers only led to more questions. "Answer me! Why serve a man long dead? Why … why tell me any of this if you're just going to -"

"You mistake my intent. I only relayed a story. I spoke nothing of its veracity."

The woman was toying with her.

Sierra stood in stunned silence as she contemplated Beral's words. Everything she said was suspect. Every word from her tongue, every utterance. She couldn't trust any of it.

Not unless she verified it.

She lifted her gloved hand and reached into the Force.

"What's this now?" asked Beral, more amused than afraid. "What does the child think she can accomplish?"

Sierra ignored her. A mind probe required concentration. Focus. She would pierce the walls of Beral's mental defenses and siphon the knowledge that she needed by force.

Slowly, she pushed her hand outwards towards Beral's restrained head.

"Wait … no. Stop! … get out! Get out!"

As Beral struggled against her restraints, Sierra drove everything but her purpose out of her conscious mind. Before her, a twisting morass of memories stretched outwards: Beral's history laid bare for her to peruse.

She followed a thread, watched as a woman with Beral's face brutally slaughtered an entire village of Rishi natives, delight growing with every kill.

"You don't have the right!"

Another strand led to the sight of Beral taunting an indiscernible figure over a holocom with a - a madeleine of all things.

"Get out of my head!"

A third vision showed Beral - huddled with at least ten others - bowing before a looming figure that stretched into the skies.

But these images were not what Sierra sought. This wasn't what she -

 _That's when she felt it._ A presence in her own mind. An outsider. An intruder! Beral had seized upon the connection she had formed, had seen the opportunity and snuck herself into Sierra's subconscious, into her memory, her history! Her pained words of protest were only a ruse. A distraction!

She couldn't believe it. How could Beral be doing this?! The Force foci, they should have overwhelmed her. She glanced down; that's when she saw that the focus nodes were indeed working. Tendrils of electricity wrapped around the prisoner's head in response to the activation of the Force. The smell of charred flesh assailed Sierra's nostrils as the surges reverberated into Beral's body.

But none of it seemed to affect her at all. The pureblood seemed only to revel in the agony.

Sierra raced to plug the leak, close the hole, slam the doors in her mind shut. But it was too late! Beral had delved deep, insinuating herself into the very recesses of Sierra's mind, beyond all of her defenses, far past anything of what Sierra had shown to Siphon. She was going to find out everything! She would discover the truth!

Beral howled with glee. "Precious child! How could I not have seen this?! It's so obvious! So clear, staring at me right in the face!"

Instinctively, Sierra shoved the interrogation table holding Beral away, sending it careening against the wall on the far side of the cell, overturning it, collapsing it to the floor. The force of the impact severed their connection and drove out Beral's intrusion. Still, the prisoner cackled.

 _"I know who you are."_

Sierra's mind raced. If that were true, she couldn't let Beral live. The risk was too great, especially now that Siphon had turned on her. If Beral were to tell Siphon, Astraad, Thresh … Sierra would be dead.

Her hand reached for her lightsaber just as a hand placed itself on her shoulder.

She whirled around, eyes wide in surprise, in shock. It was Astraad. What had he heard?! What did he know?!

"And who exactly do you think Lord Eris is, Beral?" asked the pureblood.

Beral chuckled, still toppled over, body straining the shackles that kept her bound to the overturned interrogation table. "She is Siphon's disciple, of course."

Astraad arched a brow, glancing first to Beral and then to Sierra. "What is this lunatic talking about, Eris?"

 _Why didn't Beral rat her out?_

She couldn't risk it now. Not with Astraad present. Not if there was a chance Beral was lying and that her secret was still safe.

"Meaningless babble, I'm afraid," she said, composing herself so that her tone steadied. "I thought I might take a gander at interrogation, lord Astraad. I hope you don't mind."

Astraad moved to retrieve their interrogation subject. "Did you get anything useful out of her?"

"Wasted breath, mostly. Lies. Nothing that helps us," said Sierra.

"For your future reference, I've found that overturning tables rarely proves a sufficient incentive."

Sierra feigned a half-smile at that. "I suppose I ought leave such matters to your expertise."

"That would not be unwise. You're welcome to stay if you wish. Just keep out of the way."

She wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there. She needed time to regroup, to think. Beral's actions were incomprehensible, senseless. Without reason - at least, without any that she could see. What was that woman after? Why could Sierra not see the purpose behind her actions?

"I think I best retire."

"As you wish," said Astraad absentmindedly as he righted Beral's interrogation table along with Beral herself.

She was halfway out the door when she heard the prisoner call out one last slight, chuckling with sinister intent. "Thank you, Lord Eris! I look forward to another discussion soon!"


	28. Interlopers - Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

* * *

 _One Week Later, Siphon's Citadel_

Alone in her quarters, Lethe stewed in a cycle of rage and indignation as she mulled the status of her war with the traitors. So far, the conflict with Hadrax and Cyriak seemed to have reached a precarious stalemate. Neither side had made any open moves to unseat the other … yet.

Lethe cursed beneath her breath. If only she hadn't allowed Sierra's words to sway her, this battle might have already been won. If only she had cast aside her doubts, her reservations … her ideals.

For her foolish ideals, she had lost her chance to crush Hadrax and his ilk. For her foolish ideals, she had forsaken the Holocron - the one weapon she had that would have assured her victory. For her foolish ideals, she had been humiliated, forced to rely on an apprentice to save her - and one she felt almost certain now was a traitor.

No more.

 _Satiate our hunger;  
Herald our paradise.  
All who would strive for us,  
Know only sacrifice._

It was clear now: if she was to achieve her goals, her ideals would have to give way. If the Holocron demanded sacrifice, she would deliver to it a bounty of blood to quench its thirst. Bones to satisfy its hunger. She would pour her enemies into its maw and watch as it feasted upon their souls.

She activated her holocom. "Agent Thresh."

"Yes, Darth Siphon."

"Bring the enemy disciple we caught to my quarters."

"As you command, my lord. Should I have Lord Eris meet you there as well?"

"No. Tell her nothing."

A surprised pause followed, but Thresh hid it well. "Yes, my lord. Is there anything else you need?"

Lethe pondered only for a moment. "Have a cleaning crew on standby. I suspect things are about to get messy here."

* * *

Sierra paced anxiously within the Citadel's commissary. A few of the powerbase's remaining apprentices sat nearby within the chamber, occasionally shooting her curious glances as they poked at their rations. They were the room's only other occupants.

Sierra's attention wasn't focused on them, however, but rather the news network broadcasting from the nearby viewscreen.

"Adasta Daily News can now confirm Lord Lector's assassination by members of his own powerbase. The degree to which the Ziost Liberation Front was involved in this brutal and savage attack remains unclear. New evidence has come to light that suggests the ZLF was not responsible for the earlier attack on Lord Lector's stronghold as New Adasta's people were led to believe."

"We have now received multiple eye-witness accounts affirming that the story concerning the ZLF's involvement in earlier assaults on Lector's stronghold was fabricated by representatives of Lord Lector in order to hide the true nature of their powerbase's troubles. Instead, witnesses tell ADN that the powerbase has suffered from a massive revolution, with over forty percent of Lector's adherents abruptly choosing to rebel. For more, we turn to Jerich Olts, at the scene of Lord Lector's estate in the Central District of New Adasta, where clearly a devastating battle has taken place."

The footage swapped to a young woman interviewing a frightened-looking chiss man dressed in a disheveled Imperial uniform. Sierra recognized the exterior of Lector's stronghold; there was little of it remaining besides broken rubble and crackling fires. She also recognized the interviewer - she had sat down for an exclusive interview with Jerich Olts herself not too long ago. The experience had not been a pleasant one. Olts seemed intent on trying to catch her in a lie.

Of course, her task was made no less easy by the fact that almost every word she had spoken that night was a lie.

"Thank you Wade," said Jerich Olts, wielding a startling smile against a backdrop of destruction. "As you can see, the latest attack that ultimately took Lord Lector's life has also decimated his holdings as well. I have with me one of his administrative staff, who witnessed today's rebel strike. Sir, would you please describe what happened here today?"

"Security. I was Security."

"Yes, sir. Please describe what you saw."

"It was … unbelievable. Men and women I thought were be loyal Imperials … loyal to Lector … they just turned. One second we were talking about how to restore the powerbase and then the next …"

"Would you say it was a coordinated assault?"

The chiss shuddered. "I … I don't know. It had to be, the way they all just picked up their weapons and started firing. But … you should've seen it; it was surreal. Some of them still had food halfway to their mouths when they started-"

"Do you think the ZLF was involved?"

Sierra grumbled. She did not like this correspondent; the woman had a habit of talking over her interviewees to get to the questions she wanted to ask. Sierra wanted to hear the whole account of the events that took down Lector's powerbase, not ADN's skewed version of what happened.

"I … I don't know."

Olts pressed further. "Come now. Several high-ranking Sith within Lector's powerbase have already confirmed that the ZLF's involvement was a fabrication invented to hide Lector's political weakness."

"I … I suppose they weren't. I wasn't privy to the decision, I just … heard … things."

"So, you and your powerbase lied to the people of Ziost about a serious insurrectionist threat within your forces, at the risk of endangering all of New Adasta. Care to comment on that?"

Affronted, the chiss started to back away. Olts latched onto him like a pitcher plant trapping its prey.

"I told you, it wasn't my decision. What do you want from me!"

"You just said you knew of the lie. Why did you assist in its perpetration? Why -"

The footage suddenly cut back to the ADN news desk where the anchor sputtered for a bit before collecting himself. "It seems we're experiencing some technical difficulties out in the field. Thank you, Jerich, for that uh … illuminating interview. It is as yet unknown what spurred this sudden change of heart by Lector's forces. When Adasta Daily News posed the question to Sith Intelligence, we received the following statement from Agent Rane Kovach."

But Sierra wouldn't get to hear the statement. Astraad walked into the commissary, and upon spotting her, arched his tendriled brow before approaching.

"You wanted to see me, Lord Eris?"

She nodded. "Yes, Lord Astraad. Although, perhaps we could find someplace more … discrete?"

The pureblood grumbled, then offered a hand directing towards the turbolifts. They made their way to Astraad's personal quarters. They weren't located far from Sierra's own quarters, but Astraad had offered and she would not refuse the opportunity to see the personal living spaces of any of the Sith in the Citadel. A lot could be learned from one's choice of accommodations, decor and sense of fashion.

She found none of that in Astraad's room. In fact, if she hadn't known better, she would have assumed the room was currently unoccupied. Astraad's quarters were utterly devoid of any decor, any personal items, anything that would have been of interest or note. A standard Imperial bed sat in a corner. Across the room, a nondescript plasteel desk and chair made room for what looked like a simple computer console. Near the entrance, a dull gray sectional couch flanked a simple metal low-table that stood free of any knick knacks or decoration.

"Feel free to sit," said Astraad.

Sierra obliged, taking a seat at the end of the sectional, shuffling for several moments before she finally found a tolerable position.

"Your quarters are quite … neat, Lord Astraad." She struggled to find a suitable compliment.

"I find that simplicity brings focus. But please, there's no need for formality. As our master's personal apprentice, I should be the one deferring to you."

Of all the Lords on Siphon's council, it was Astraad that Sierra found the most likeable. Not that that bar stood particularly high, given the previous council members - Hadrax had wanted to skin Sierra alive after she slew his apprentice, Rime, and Cyriak had only ever looked her in the eye after he discovered that currying her favor might bolster his own standing. Astraad was different. Since Hadrax and Cyriak's betrayal - and the impostor's attack - Astraad had been nothing but helpful and respectful.

Siphon had instructed Sierra to watch him, had been suspicious of his intentions and knowledge of the Holocron. That had changed in recent days; their mutual master had found a different target for her doubts.

But that wasn't the subject Sierra wanted to broach with Astraad. She needed to know if anything had come of the accusatory declaration Beral had leveled at her: _"I know who you are."_

She struggled to find a way to bring up the questions she wanted to ask naturally.

" … how are your injuries? The recovery is smooth, I hope."

"As smooth as it can be, I suppose. I suspect it would have gone quicker with Doctor Tivan's supervision. His staff is full of incompetents. One of them tried to apply a kolto injection through my ear yesterday."

Sierra's thoughts turned to Tivan for a second. He had been innocent in all this. Sierra deeply regretted having to slay him - he had been nothing but kind to her - but she could not run the risk of him exposing her true loyalties. She didn't know how much the doctor had overheard of her conversation with her true master, but even a fraction could have damned her. She had no choice.

The sensation of Astraad's eyes upon her drew Sierra out of her tangential thought.

"I see … and how is the interrogation going?"

Astraad grimaced, seating himself on the other end of the sectional while setting a small tray containing cups, a dish of sugar cubes, a small jug of bantha milk and a pot of tea down onto the table. "Poorly. Lord Beral has proven quite resistant to all my favored interrogation methods."

Sierra had to remind herself that despite the man's otherwise gentlemanly demeanor here and now, Astraad was a fearsome inquisitor and torturer.

He poured the tea with a practiced hand, dipping and lifting with an elegance that came from familiarity. Sierra found that surprising, given he had lost his favored arm in battle and had to substitute it with a cybernetic one.

"An imported selection. I hope you don't mind. I can't stand Ziost's varieties. They always end up tasting like -"

"Snowy piss?" Sierra finished his sentence without thinking, then felt her cheeks flush as she realized she spoke her thought aloud.

Astraad chuckled lightly. It was an airy laugh, one that could be offered out of propriety … or perhaps one offered in masquerade.

"An apt description." Astraad passed her a cup and then sipped his own, absent any of the sugar or milk he had brought out.

Sierra did the same. The tea was in fact much better than she was used to on Ziost: flavorful without leaving the bitter aftertaste that the ice planet's tea leaves often did. "It's quite good. Where did you say this was from?"

Astraad smiled. "I'm surprised you don't recognize it. Korriban. I'm told it's a staple at the Academy. One of the few luxuries we allow aspiring apprentices."

Sierra swallowed. "Of course. It's been a while since I've tasted it." A lie, of course, but she need not point that out. "So, about Lord Beral. Has she … mentioned anything about me?"

"You?" Astraad paused for a moment, contemplating, flesh hand scratching at the tendrils on his chin. "Well, she did accuse you of conspiring against the powerbase. Does that count?"

She struggled to keep from visibly tensing up as she stared at Astraad.

The pureblood continued after only a brief pause. "Of course, I dismissed it as baseless. A desperate attempt to sow discord within our house."

Sierra let loose an internal sigh of relief. Perhaps the woman had merely been toying with her before. Trying to psych her out, rattle her into confessing something Beral could use as leverage to escape.

"A bald-faced lie," she agreed. "She told me that she would try to slander me when I was interrogating her. Thank you, Lord Astraad, for seeing through her deception."

"You don't need to thank me, my lord Eris" said Astraad. "I've done this sort of thing long enough to be able to distinguish the truth from attempts to undermine the truth."

She offered a genuine smile. "Darth Siphon is lucky to have you."

Astraad chuckled. "I can see I need to be careful around you, Lord Eris, lest your flattery inflate my ego to the size off Hadrax's head."

"That would be a trick," mused Sierra. "But I meant what I said. I hope you know neither I nor Darth Siphon takes your service for granted. It is not lost on us - on me - that if you had chosen the impostor's side that day, the outcome of that battle would have gone far worse for us."

Astraad shook his head. "With the power that Darth Siphon now commands? I question that assessment. But the sentiment is appreciated."

Sierra pivoted back. "Can I ask you a question, Lord Astraad?" When the man nodded his consent, she continued, " … why did you choose us?

"Over the false Siphon? You mean beyond simple loyalty to one's master?"

"Allow me to be frank then, my lord. We are all Sith. We understand the reality that is our politics. Loyalty is a luxury the Republic can afford, but us? Was there truly no tactical considerations in your decision?"

The pureblood smiled. "What sort of factora would you have considered, in my place?"

"Well, through solely the lens of survival, siding with the impostor would have been the more advantageous choice. Four versus two makes for better odds than three on three. Then, considering how Darth Siphon had treated you prior to the battle … a desire for revenge would have been … understandable."

"And you think these factors should have directed me to the false Siphon's side, rather than our master's."

Sierra nodded. "I can see many other Sith making that decision were they in your shoes."

Astraad chuckled again. "You are quite astute, Eris. I can see why Darth Siphon favors you. You're right. I did take those factors into consideration. But there is one argument you neglected to list."

"Oh? What's that?" asked Sierra.

"I believe in Darth Siphon's - our Siphon, the true Siphon - I believe in her dreams. Her ambitions. Her way."

Sierra's eyes widened in surprise; she was not expecting _that_ response at all. "Her way? What do you know of her way?"

"She sees a different vision for the Empire. A better one. One in which the Sith are not constrained to the constant infighting treachery that has held us back for centuries."

Sierra stood stunned. She didn't think Siphon had shared her secret philosophy with anyone else other than her; it was a way of thinking that surely would have ostracized her from the vast majority of Sith society had it gotten out. "She told you this?"

"No," mused Astraad. "But it's rather obvious to anyone paying attention."

"What do you mean?"

Astraad chuckled. "She has the Holocron at her command, Eris. All this time. She could have killed Hadrax or Cyriak anytime she wished, but instead she gave them chance after chance. Mercy after mercy. She only turns to it as a last resort. Even this last battle, she held back from using its power, when it could have meant securing a decisive victory."

Sierra nodded. Astraad was more intuitive than she had thought. It worked in her favor now, but she would have to be more careful than ever around him, lest he uncover the truth about her.

"Most Sith would discount her decisions as weakness," said Sierra.

"Are you such a Sith?" asked Astraad.

"I chose her, didn't I? In that battle with her impostor. As did you."

Astraad smiled softly. "A curious and fortunate crossing of the stars, I'd say. In any other powerbase, we would likely be executed. The irony is that we are the patriots. We are the ones who have the Empire's best interest at heart."

The words were powerful … Sierra almost regretted having to betray Astraad. She swallowed her remorse and forced lies from her tongue.

"Thank you, Lord Astraad, for sharing that with me. For trusting me."

The pureblood laughed. "We are all in this together now. We are all that we have, in the Empire, as well as this powerbase. Hadrax and Cyriak took with them the strongest apprentices when they left. If we don't have each other's backs now, our futures would indeed look very grim."

Sierra offered a hesitant smile. "That brings me to the last thing I wished to discuss with you then, my lord. And I'm afraid it is the most dire."

"Oh? What is it, Lord Eris?"

She paused before speaking, searching for words that would best facilitate her twin goals. "I am … I'm afraid the Holocron is doing more than just empowering our master, Astraad. It seems to have a hold over her … it's corrupting her ideals."

Astraad frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You haven't seen what she's like when she's under the Holocron's influence. Ruthless. Cruel. Forgotten are her notions of unity and strength in solidarity. Everytime she invokes its power …"

"You think the Holocron is doing that to her?"

"It has to be. There's no other explanation."

Astraad stroked the tendrils on his chin, deep in concerned thought. "What would you suggest we do?"

Sierra sighed. "I've been trying to get her to give up the Holocron, to relinquish it and lock it away somewhere its influence can't threaten us … but the more I bring it up, the more she seems to discount my counsel."

"Ah," mused the pureblood. "And you want me to make an attempt."

"I seem to have lost favor with her even as you have ascended in her eyes. Perhaps with both of us counseling the same thing, our master can be brought to see reason."

"A reasonable enough plan," said Astraad. "I can't say I'll succeed, Eris, but I will try."

A small wave of relief washed over Sierra. She had done at least this much. "Thank you, Lord Astraad. Thank you."

Astraad smiled. "It's the least I can do, my friend. We only have each other now. We can't forget that."

Guilt started to wrap itself around Sierra's mind as she offered a smile back to her new ally. One more ally to whom she had to lie. One more friend to whom she could not face when this was all done and finished.

She pushed it aside for now, but it would come back. It always came back.

Astraad reached for his ear - someone was communicating with him over comlink. He offered an apologetic look to Sierra before answering. "Yes, Darth Siphon?" A pause. "No, she's proven remarkably resilient -"

A sudden look of panic flashed across the pureblood's face as he listened to the Darth. "My lord, are you certain? She could still provide valuable information; we just need mroe time."

Sierra frowned. What were they talking about?

"A-as you say, my lord." Astraad disconnected his comlink before turning back to her. "Apologies, Lord Eris. It seems our master requires my assistance."

"Of course. Perhaps if you find the opportunity, you could speak to her about our concerns?" she asked hopefully.

Astraad offered an anxious smile and nod before he ushered her out of his quarters and heading for the turbolifts.

Sierra watched him leave. Based on Siphon's recent mood, she didn't envy him his task, whatever it was. But forging this alliance left her feeling, for the first time in weeks, that perhaps that things would work out after all. Her goals were not outside her reach, not yet.

She would steal the Holocron from Siphon … and in the process, save Siphon from the Holocron.


	29. Interlopers - Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

* * *

 _Minutes Earlier_

Within her quarters, Lethe breathed in deep as the Force wreathed itself around her, Hadrax's spy dead at her feet.

The man had been hers once, not so long ago. But he had chosen Hadrax over her, had betrayed her. It was only fitting that he be punished. And it was only fitting that his restitution should come in the form of his sacrifice, to empower the master he had forsaken.

And what power it brought. Lethe had felt nothing like it in her entire life. It was as though every cell in her body hummed, resonating with the Force, joining them together in ways that she never thought possible. This wasn't just power. This was the cusp of omnipotence. The edge of immortality.

The sensation was thrilling. The sheer, raw, Force that infused her gave strength beyond her wildest imagination. The control. The precision. Nothing felt outside her grasp. The world was at her fingertips. Not just the city. Not just Ziost. The Empire itself. The galaxy!

The Holocron hovered over her open palm, vibrating with strength, with energy, with renewed vigor. But still, it was not satisfied.

Still, it hungered.

If one life could give her this much, what could a dozen lives do? A hundred? A thousand?

Lethe activated her comlink. "Astraad."

"Yes, Darth Siphon," came the quick response.

"Has your prisoner revealed anything useful?" she asked.

"No, she's proven remarkably resilient-"

Lethe cut him off. "Bring her to me then. If she will not provide knowledge, she will be fuel for the Holocron."

Astraad's tone filled with uncertainty. "My lord, are you certain? She could still provide valuable information; we just need more time."

That much was true. Perhaps Beral could still prove useful beyond serving as a sacrifice after all. But if she would not do, then Lethe had no choice but to turn elsewhere for the offerings she needed.

"Fine. Assemble the apprentices. I wish to do an inspection. Things have been much too lax. It's time we culled the dead weight."

Astraad paused before offering a hesitant response. "A-as you say, my lord."

She could almost hear the fear in the timbre of his voice. Did he know what she planned to do?

Did it matter?

Lethe disconnected the transmission and closed her fist around the Holocron. Somehow worrying about the machinations and conspiracies of lesser Sith now seemed insignificant. What could they do to her while she had the relic's power coursing through her veins? What could they do once she realized its full potential?

She ignored the part of her mind that still clung to her way, dismissed the voice that still recalled Retra and the promises that had been made.

There was time left to fulfill those oaths once she had her house in order. There would be time for everything after Hadrax and Cyriak were dead. And to ensure that outcome … just this once, her way could step to the side. Her reforms could take a backseat. What were they, but obstacles to themselves now? Once she had the power she needed, there would be nothing to stop her from resuming the course. Rededicating herself to her ideology.

Until then, she would have to find a new way.

Lethe stepped out of her quarters, still clutching the Holocron, walking ever forward to her destiny.

* * *

Sierra jammed the buttons to the turbolift, so hard that one of them cracked.

She prayed she was not too late. Astraad's message had been urgent - to meet him at the the throne's room shuttle pad, where Darth Siphon had assembled the Citadel's remaining Sith apprentices. Siphon had said she wanted to perform an inspection, but Astraad's message made it clear that was far from their master's true intent.

The turbolift creaked to a grinding halt and Sierra burst outwards, flying towards the shuttlepad. The entryway was still a mess of rubble; the Citadel hadn't had the time to make repairs yet. Sierra's legs pushed her past the wreckage out into the light of day.

There she was met by Siphon, surrounded by a litter of corpses strewn all around her.

It took Sierra a moment to recover from the shock of the scene before her.

"What have you done?!"

Siphon turned to her, undisturbed, unmoved; it was the calm in her master's demeanor that shook Sierra to her core, moreso even than the graveyard of death before her. The cold rationality of a decision made by a reasoned mind.

She heard a whimpering: Astraad, struggling to stand nearby, forced to prostrate himself - no doubt by Siphon's will.

"I have it now, Sierra. I have what I need."

Siphon looked from Sierra to her hands. They emanated the Force so powerful, so twisted, that the air around them tinted scarlet.

Sierra stood in stunned silence. How could this have happened? How could her master have turned so quickly?

"I didn't mean to kill them all," said Siphon, lightly, without a hint of remorse, almost as though she was speaking of eating too many desserts. "I meant only to cull the weakest of them. The ones that wouldn't have survived this war anyway."

"But the power, Sierra … the Holocron trades their lives for so much. These mewling fools could have spent a lifetime training and still wouldn't have come close to attaining what the Holocron gave me for their paltry existences."

Siphon started to laugh. "Nothing can stop me now. _Nothing. No one."_

Finally, Sierra found her tongue. "What about your way? What about your beliefs, your ideals? You abandon them, just like that?!"

"What need do I have for ideals?" asked Siphon. "What use are reforms for a society corrupt to its very core? We can paint it over with a pristine coat, but there is no changing its soul, no way to save it from the rot in its heart."

Passion overrode Sierra's reason and the words slipped from her tongue before she could stop herself. " … are you talking about the Empire? Or yourself?"

Siphon stared at her.

Then she whirled around, heading toward the shuttle that stood ready for her.

"Where are you going?!"

"I'm going to reclaim Twinspire," said Siphon without stopping.

"By yourself?"

As she reached the shuttle doors, Siphon turned around, her disfigured mask focusing straight on Sierra, its hollow eyes filled with accusation. _"I have all that I need."_

With that, she turned back around and entered the shuttle. At the same time, Astraad was finally released; the pureblood staggered to his feet, coughing heavily. Sierra rushed to help him up.

They both watched in disbelieving silence as Siphon's shuttle lifted off the shuttle pad and ascended into the air, racing towards Twinspire Keep.

* * *

 _Command Center, Twinspire Keep_

"Lord Hadrax. Long range scanners detect an approaching vessel. One of Darth Siphon's - er … I mean the impostor's - shuttles."

Hadrax snorted. He didn't care whether the Siphon he had faced upon the Valley of Mirrors was real or not. They were all impostors, as far as he was concerned. Frauds. Pretenders to a title and nothing more.

All of them were false.

Hadrax, Cyriak, and their most loyal Sith disciples stood within Twinspire Keep's command center. Many of its systems were still down - General Ravain had sabotaged them when he realized Hadrax was about to take over control - but communications and anti-air turrets were still up. The disciples that hadn't fallen in the duel with Siphon a week ago now manned what systems remained operational.

Environmental controls was not one of them; the harsh and unforgiving cold of Ziost's wilderness seeped into every corner of the stronghold. Even so, the very mention of Siphon's name caused Hadrax's blood to soar a thousand degrees.

"Shoot it down."

"Sensors detect only one life sign. They've opened a com channel," said the disciple manning communications. He was young, fresh from the academy, but had shown a talent with the lightsaber. If Hadrax had known that talent came at the expense of the man's hearing, he might have reconsidered recruiting him.

"Are you deaf? Shoot it down!"

Cyriak interjected. "Belay that. Open the channel. I want to hear what they have to say."

Hadrax whirled upon his fellow pureblood. Cyriak's audacity grew by the second. "You forget who is the master of this powerbase. You are an advisor! Nothing more."

"Then as your advisor, I strongly suggest you open a line of communication," said Cyriak, his tone filled with an impatience with which Hadrax had long grown exasperated

Hadrax advanced on Cyriak, shoving the bandaged stump of his hand into his face. "She did _this_ to me. The only thing I will open for her is her heart with my lightsaber."

The other pureblood recoiled from what remained of Hadrax's arm. "Actually, Lord Eris did that to you."

"I do not recognize that title!" hissed Hadrax. "That one is a slave, unworthy of being named."

"Be that as it may, you cannot deny our position is weakened. Listen to my counsel. Siphon would have killed you if I had not intervened; you owe me this much."

"I owe you?! You humiliated me! You defied the terms of the duel and declared me a coward for all the Empire to see. I should have your head for your insolence!"

Cyriak slammed his hand down onto the nearest console, fury rising to match Hadrax's own.

"I won't get into this with you again, Hadrax. You would be dead without me. You are a prissy, spoiled child whose arrogance threatens any chance we have of reclaiming the powerbase. I'm starting to question whether throwing my lot in with you was the wisest course of action."

Hadrax drew his lightsaber and ignited it. "Consider your next words carefully, Cyriak."

Cyriak ignored him. "Open the channel," he directed the disciple.

"They've already switched to area-wide broadcast. Connecting … now."

An image of Darth Siphon herself appeared before them, projected in shimmering cerulean.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are."

Cyriak's eyes narrowed. "Is she here by herself? What is she doing?"

Siphon's voice boomed over the holocom once more. "Hadrax, the coward. Cyriak, the fool. These are your legacies if you don't come out to meet me."

"My lords. Should we respond?" asked the disciple.

"Have the turrets respond, you fool. _Shoot her down,"_ commanded Hadrax.

The disciple glanced uncertainly to Cyriak. Hadrax's fury rose another level. Did this disciple think he could discount his master's orders in favor of Cyriak's?! He strode forward, intending to put an end to the man on the spot, but Cyriak stepped in between them, hand outstretched to keep him at bay.

"I quite agree, Lord Hadrax," said Cyriak before turning to the disciple. "You heard your master! Fire at will!"

The disciple complied immediately. "Activating anti-air defenses."

Another disciple brought up the exterior security camera feed onto a nearby viewscreen.

A hail of turret fire appeased Hadrax's rage. The shuttle barely made any effort to avoid the blasts, absorbing them head on; its shields soon dissipated with a crackle of electric discharge.

"She's either the worst pilot on the planet or she's trying to commit suicide," breathed Cyriak, in awe of Siphon's stupidity. Hadrax stood unphased.

"Keep firing!" he instructed. "Twinspire will be her grave."

Another volley of turret fire caught the shuttle's wing; it spiraled wildly, careening towards the Keep, slamming into the snow just outside the gates. A second explosion consumed what remained of the shuttle in a storm of fire and ash. Dark smoke ballooned from the wreckage in generous volume.

Cyriak chuckled, almost in disbelief. "Did Siphon just destroy herself for us? Has she lost her mind?"

"No. We have to be sure," said Hadrax. "Round up the rest of the disciples. Have them surround the wreckage and wait for our approach. Make sure they understand that the only thing leaving that shuttle is Siphon's corpse."

* * *

Ash and smoke billowed upwards into Ziost's unmarred sky from the wreckage of Siphon's shuttle.

Hadrax strode forward, snow crunching beneath his boots. Cyriak had done as he asked. All of their remaining sith apprentices had encircled the downed shuttle; some had drawn their lightsabers while others readied charges of Force lightning or telekinetics. Cyriak himself folded his arms across his chest, eyes locked on the smoldering debris, scanning for any sign of movement, any sign that Siphon might somehow have survived.

The Force felt odd around him, but Hadrax could not tell if it was merely because they had gathered the strongest of his into one location. He favored the blade and its forms; he had never attempted to understand the intricacies of the Force. His advisor, on the other hand ...

"Do you sense anything?" he asked as he took his place in front of Cyriak.

His fellow pureblood furrowed his brow in concentration. "I … I sense an emptiness … a fissure in the Force."

"What does that mean?" Hadrax asked, trusting his tone to convey his restlessness.

"It's not unlike the sensation of the death of a Force-sensitive ... " said Cyriak. But the pureblood's hesitation belied the spoken victory.

"Is she dead or not?" pressed Hadrax.

"No. This is … something on a different scale. Not just one death. Dozens. A massacre … the Force here, it's like an open maw leading into oblivion. No one death could have caused this …"

Fear seeped its way into Cyriak's words. Hadrax glanced around to find many of his own disciples reflect that same emotion in their eyes: trepidation at the unknown. Anxiety at uncertain danger.

It didn't make sense. "What are you talking about? I thought we confirmed Siphon was alone."

Cyriak shook his head in disbelief. "I don't understand."

Suddenly, the shuttle's wreckage shuddered of its own accord. Hadrax's eyes darted all around; none of his pure sith had invoked the Force. It wasn't their doing. The sound of metal screeching as it twisted and contorted assailed his ears; something - or someone - was coming out.

"Get ready!" Hadrax barked. "Don't let Siphon take a single step out of that wreck!"

A hunk of durasteel debris hurtled outwards from the shuttle, slamming into one of his disciples before anyone could react. Hadrax and Cyriak both darted towards the opening, careful to give it a wide berth. Their remaining sith converged on the spot, waiting with bated breath.

Siphon emerged. Unharmed.

She strode forward, revealing no sign that she had just survived a shuttle crash. Indeed, she did not appear to have been injured to any degree. Her robes hadn't even been seared. No scorch marks, no charred or frayed edges, not even ash or dust upon them. They looked as though they were freshly cleaned and pressed. Her mask - its golden countenance distorted in a prior battle - seemed only more radiant.

"It's not possible …" breathed Cyriak. "She doesn't have a scratch on her -"

"What are you waiting for, you imbeciles!" roared Hadrax. "Destroy her!"

Hadrax's vision erupted in luminescent hues of blue and violet as lightning lanced inwards to Siphon, like the spokes of a wheel, surging towards a nucleus.

Siphon didn't flinch. With one arm, she summoned a barrier of the Force so strong, the torrent of lightning heading towards her could only redirect its course, contorting against their intent, twisting against their natural course. With a shudder, the electricity folded into itself and enveloped Siphon in a protective shield.

The Darth was not done. She lifted her free hand into the air and closed it into an iron grip. Instantly, all of Hadrax's forces dropped their arms to their sides, scattering what remained of their conjurings, dissipating the swirling deluge of electricity from their fingertips. As his disciples' struggled against their invisible restraints, Hadrax watched as Siphon pushed her closed fist downward. One by one, his pureblooded apprentices sank to their knees, prostrating themselves to Siphon in a cascade of submission.

 _They were supposed to be pure. They were supposed the true Sith! How could they kneel before this impostor?!_

Cyriak watched in silent awe, dumbfounded. For once, the groveling bootlicker was at a loss for words.

"Get up," spat Hadrax, his voice quiet but filled with dangerous fury. He would not let his own followers shame him like this. He would not be humiliated! He bounded to his nearest disciple, blade alive and hissing. "GET UP!"

"Master! I can't … move! H-help us, please!"

Hadrax roared, plunging his lightsaber into the apprentice's back, ending his life as the coward's words still lingered upon his tongue.

"I will brook no weakness! I will tolerate no failure!"

"Don't you see?!" Siphon's voice pierced the air, its tone infuriating in its mockery. Her imperious mask derided him, taunted him with every second it remained unbowed. "They recognize the superior Sith!"

"No. _NO! I will not allow this!"_

Hadrax dashed towards Siphon, one lightsaber in hand, the other flying towards his enemy with incredible speed, flipping end to end as it aimed to decapitate her. Siphon stopped his thrown blade with a single stare, sapping it of all momentum; out of the corner of his eye, Hadrax watched it fall to the ground in harmless defeat.

Even his weapons betrayed him!

He summoned the Force to empower his body, magnifying his strength, agility, speed. He still had himself. He still had his own skill, his own strength! He was Orthas' rightful successor, the inheritor of his legacy! From midair, he shot towards his former master like a torpedo, lightsaber aimed for her head.

But something was wrong.

Siphon had barely been able to match his speed in their last battle, had only just managed to parry his attacks. She would have fallen to his blade had her lackey not interceded, but this time …

This time, it was Hadrax who felt himself slow to a crawl, he who watched as his blade protruded outwards at a snail's pace, too slow to pierce anything. Too weak. Siphon immobilized his body in midair, stole all semblance of control away from him, draining him not only of his propulsion, but of his will. His resolve.

Cold, delirious laughter poured out from Siphon's mask, a deluge of contempt that he could not silence, no matter how he tried.

"Now, Hadrax," said Siphon. "You have escaped your fate for far too long, but now you will know defeat. Now, you will know _death."_

A blast of lightning lanced forward from Cyriak's fingertips, but Siphoned need only to glance in the pureblood's direction to stop his attack in its tracks. False bravado gave way to fear; Hadrax watched as his compatriot's eyes widened at the sight of his lightning fizzling. Cyriak whirled around, robes fluttering, eyes darting to the nearest escape, legs moving to flee. It was too late. Before the sycophant could even prod himself a single step forward, Siphon unleashed a torrent of her own blinding white lightning, sent it surging into Cyriak's body. The scream that loosed from the fleeing sith's tongue curdled even Hadrax's blood.

 _How was this possible?_ Hadrax didn't understand. Just a week ago, Siphon had been at his mercy. How could she have turned things around so completely?!

Through the Force, Siphon levitated Cyriak's charred and smoking body back towards her; it barely clinged to life, mouth gaping in desperate attempt to plead for mercy. Hadrax's body followed; both of them sank to their knees, facing each other, Siphon hovering over them as though preparing to perform some ministration. Hadrax could not turn his head, could not move any of his limbs no matter how hard he struggled, how desperately he fought. He could not even speak, his lips sealed shut by Siphon's will.

All of his disciples turned their heads up, simultaneously, forced to watch as their declared leaders abased themselves before their sworn enemy.

The Darth leaned in close, speaking softly; and yet her words thundered into Hadrax's ears. "You accused me once of staining Orthas' legacy. You declared me witless and unfit to rule. Tell me, my advisors. Do you think I'm fit to rule now?"

She released her hold over their mouths and instantly, Cyriak's tongue spewed forth an avalanche of obsequious mush. "My lord, forgive me my trespass! I was wrong to doubt you! Never again. Please! Spare me and I am yours through time immemorial."

"Cyriak finally understands. What of you, Hadrax? Will you submit?"

Hadrax was beaten. Even he couldn't deny it; he couldn't summon his weapon, couldn't summon the Force, couldn't move a single muscle that she did not allow him to move. Submission would be the wiser course of action. Defiance would only ensure his death. Kowtowing now might secure clemency, might grant him a second chance to overthrow her. Survival would require humiliation, cowardice … but it was the only way to live.

But if Hadrax was sure of one thing in his entire life, it was this. All the lessons he had learned from Darth Orthas, all the knowledge his training and advancement had gained him, the singular thing that drove his ambition and fueled his pride: he was no coward.

He spat at Siphon and watched as the spittle leaked down her golden mask; she flinched at that, of all things. Not any of the attacks that had been launched against her. Not lightsaber nor lightning, nor raw Force. His spit was what finally broke that veil of invulnerability. He would have laughed if he could.

It almost made his impending death worth it.

Cyriak sat across from him, agape.

Siphon stood back up, her hands moving like a puppet master's. "You've sealed your fate then. For the two traitors who thought they could strike at their master, who thought they could steal from me without retribution, who thought they could defy me and survive unscathed … I sentence you to death."

Cyriak glanced frantically from Hadrax to Siphon and back, tongue desperate to find the words that would save him. "No! It wasn't me. It was all his idea! Hadrax's treachery! I am yours, master, always and forever. Your faithful servant, your loyal advisor. Command me and it will be done, please!"

Hadrax hissed. "Worthless dog. Die with dignity!"

Their hands moved of their own accord, manipulated by Siphon's strings; both picked up their lightsabers, both placed them firmly against each other's chests, angled them to find their still-beating hearts. Cyriak struggled; Hadrax watched as his muscles quivered with exertion, desperate to break free of Siphon's hold, all to no avail. It was useless.

She had won. They had lost.

As their thumbs closed on their weapons' ignition switches, the world flooded with crimson light.

And then, they fell.

Hadrax's only regret: the last thing he would ever see was Cyriak's face, frozen forever in a pathetic whimper.

* * *

 _Hours Later, Siphon's Citadel_

Astraad sat before the computer console in his quarters. It was the dead of night, when even New Adasta fell to silence and slumber. Not him though. Not yet.

He still struggled a bit to breathe; the power Siphon now wielded, fueled by the Holocron of Ancient Sorcery … it was incomparable. Even the passage of many hours since the Darth had left to seize Twinspire on her own, he still felt the aftereffects of the attack she had unleashed. Nothing within Ziost could rival it. Nothing within the galaxy. The path she now walked was one set by destiny … and it could but lead her to destruction.

But Siphon was not the person of interest Astraad now intended to focus on.

He activated his viewscreen and began playback of security logs from cameras he had installed in the girl Sierra's quarters.

Ever since Lord Beral had indicated Sierra might be a traitor, Astraad had secretly begun monitoring Siphon's favored apprentice. He performed this same review on a daily basis … and had found nothing each time. His efforts were rewarded only with lost sleep.

Until now.

More often than not, the footage showed only an empty room; other times, he could see Sierra going about an entirely dull daily routine. Tonight, however, it was different. Tonight, he stumbled upon something far out of the ordinary.

The video feed read 0800 hours. Sierra was about to sit down to meditate when suddenly her holocommunicator stirred to life. The girl answered it, and a miniature robed figure appeared, shimmering in blue.

"Master, what are you doing?" asked Sierra. "This isn't a secure connection."

 _Master?_ Astraad did not recognize the person in the holocom projection, but he was sure it was not their mutual master. It was a man, for starters, and his voice carried no distortion from a mask modulator.

"You haven't been responding to our comlink signals, Sierra."

Astraad watched as Sierra stammered. "I know. Sorry. Things are … hectic right now, but I assure you, I have things well in hand -"

"We're pulling you out. Rendezvous coordinates are being sent to you. Meet us there in twenty-four hours and -"

"Wait," Sierra interrupted. "You're pulling me out? Now?"

"By your own reports, things are getting far too dangerous. Darth Siphon is becoming wildly unpredictable and her amplified powers are clearly too much for you to handle."

"It's the Holocron, master. I know it. It could be exactly what we've been looking for, what you sent me here to investigate. I'm more and more sure of it with every passing day."

Astraad watched as the man rubbed his temple.

Sierra continued, "You can't pull me out now. I've only just begun learning what we need to know about it, how to control it, how to d-"

The man raised his voice sharply. "You have your orders. The decision is made; we will rendezvous with you in twenty-four hours."

Still, the girl objected, "But master -"

"Remember your duty, my padawan. Once we arrive on the planet, we can assess our next move together."

Defeated, Sierra acquiesced. "As you say, master."

The holocall terminated. Astraad paused the video playback. He needed to know who was on the other end of that call. The man had said he would rendezvous with Sierra the next day - but that they had yet to arrive on Ziost. That could only mean one thing - they were in or near the planet's orbit.

He activated his own comlink. "Thresh. Wake up."

The man answered, voice still steeped in grogginess. "M-my lord. What time is it?"

"I need you to run a sensor sweep for starships in the planet's orbit. Flag for stealth technology, and run an analysis for unusual signals. I suspect we have uninvited guests at our doorstep."

"Can't this wait until morning? Please my lord, it's -"

"Now, Thresh. And report your findings to me immediately."

The agent's voice filled with resentful resignation. "As you wish, my lord."

Astraad terminated the communication and returned his attention to the viewscreen. The footage remained paused on Sierra. He stared at the girl, stunned. Beral's accusation had been confirmed. He had the proof in front of him. Loathe as he was to admit it, Beral was right all along.

 _Padawan._

Astraad knew what he had to do.


	30. Interlude 06

**Interlude**

* * *

 _Six Months Ago_

"Quickly, Sierra. Hide."

Sierra did as she was told, glancing nervously to the sounds of battle in the distance, protected only by flimsy walls and the aged Darth Miro. Blaster fire roared nearby, punctuated by the unmistakable reverberations of lightsabers cutting through air. Sierra knew the sounds well, but never suspected how much worse they seemed while masquerading as a slave. Weaponless and helpless to defend herself - lest she betray her true identity - she could but pray that she would survive the night.

She had come too far to die now. She was a Jedi within the Empire, undercover, dispatched on a mission to which even most of the Order was not aware. She risked her life with every action she took, every word she spoke, every breath she stole.

Stepping tentatively into Miro's wardrobe, she carefully closed its doors shut before tilting two slats ever slightly outward to afford her a view of what was happening. Miro stumbled toward his cane; from within, he pulled out a hidden a lightsaber, gnarled and wrinkled hands shaking as they grasped its hilt. The man was decades past his prime and probably had not wielded a lightsaber in serious combat for more than a few years, but circumstance left him with few choices now.

His stronghold had been breached. Darth Miro's estate was not built to withstand prolonged assault, his security staff ill-trained to defend against coordinated strikes. Miro himself was renowned historian, but he had survived this long mostly by ensuring he never drew the ire of his fellow Sith. It was a strategy that served him well … up until now.

Up until the planet discovered it was he who possessed the Holocrons of Ancient Sorcery.

She didn't know who had acquired the knowledge of their existence beyond her and her handlers. But she suspected it was not coincidence that just when Miro was about to reveal the relic's powers to her, Orthas' forces came charging up the steps.

She had thought that there might be a silver lining to the siege, but even that proved an unfulfilled wish. She hoped that an attack might be able to force Miro's hand and get him to use the Holocrons. She needed to witness their power, needed to know the extent of what they could do, but Miro had stubbornly refused to harness even a fraction of the relic's knowledge.

Sierra had not expected him to cling to that decision even in the face of impending destruction.

The Force trembled as a pureblood sith strode into the chamber. Darth Orthas. The man was an imposing figure, tall and draped in ceremonial finery. Scars and tendrils adorned his face in equal measure. Another pureblood sith flanked him, lightsaber already ignited; Orthas' own weapon still remained hanging from his belt.

"I have no quarrel with you, Orthas," said Miro, his voice cracking as it strained to project from vocal chords that had long since began to wither. Sierra strained to hear him through her cramped hiding place.

"That's not what I've heard," replied Orthas, his voice resonant even in its quiet. "You are aware that Darth Siphon is engaged in a Kaggath with me, are you not?"

Miro did not respond, though Sierra knew it to be true. Siphon was the first to come calling once news of the Holocrons' existence spread throughout New Adasta; Miro had only managed to save his holdings from her by promising an alliance.

"And by allying yourself with that unworthy scum, you made yourself an enemy in me."

Miro's brow furrowed as he struggled for a response. "An … an alliance made from convenience, not loyalty. But you, Darth Orthas. If you wish my allegiance, you will have it. Just stop your attack."

Orthas laughed, mocking and cruel. "Your allegiance? No, Miro. The only things I wish from you are the Holocrons of Ancient Sorcery. Lord Astraad here tells me you have them. Give them to me, and I will allow you to live. You can even stand by Siphon's side if you wish. It will be the most opportune position to watch as I slay her."

"You don't know what you're asking. The Holocrons are dangerous. They are a weapon too volatile to be used, too insidious."

Sierra's eyes focused on Miro. Did he speak the truth? Or was this merely a ploy to convince Orthas to give up his siege?

"Just because you are too weak to leverage their true abilities," said Orthas, " … does not mean that I cannot master them."

Miro shook his head, more and more frantic. "No. You don't know. You haven't seen. The Holocrons aren't meant for any of us. They herald the Empire's doom!"

"If they are such a threat, why not destroy them then?!" asked Orthas. "No, Miro … I see through your lies. You covet their power, but lack the -"

"Don't you think I've tried to destroy them?! They cannot be destroyed! They are impervious to blade and lightning, fire and the Force!"

"Foolish old man! Do not waste your breath. I do not cower before opportunity. Give them to me and I will consider sparing your worthless life!"

"No!" Miro screamed. "I'll die before I let them bring ruin upon us all!"

The old man charged, thrusting his blade forward. Orthas didn't blink. The pureblood behind him - Astraad - stepped forward to parry the blow while Orthas himself summoned the Force to rip Miro's weapon from his hands. Another motion in the air and the decrepit body launched forward, neck landing in Orthas's grip.

"I shall oblige you then," hissed Orthas.

Darth Miro clawed at the iron gauntlet that closed around his throat, clawing at the gloves, kicking empty air. To no avail. Orthas was too strong, and Miro too old to defend himself, too weak. Strangled breath carried his last words to Orthas.

"You are blind. I will make you see."

The man's hands crawled to Orthas' face, faster than Sierra - or anyone in the room - expected. Orthas tried to withdraw; his flunky tried to pry the old man's fingers away, but Miro persisted, summoning the last reserves of his strength to ensure he succeeded.

For a second, Sierra watched as the three men stood frozen in time. What was happening?

And then it was over. Miro's body collapsed to the floor, unmoving. Dead. But Sierra saw on Orthas' expression the hint of something she had not seen there before: apprehension. Fear.

What did Miro show him?

"Master, I sense another presence here …" said Astraad.

"Find them."

"Yes, my lord."

 _Hells._

It did not take long for Astraad to tear down the door to Miro's wardrobe. Sierra cowered - a task made simpler by the actual fear she felt for her life now. She forcibly reminded herself: _There is no emotion. There is peace._ And she would need peace for what came next; the next few moments might very well determine whether she lived or died. She doubted she would be able to take on both Orthas and his lackey, even if she did have a weapon. Her training prepared her for many things, but Orthas was in a league of his own.

Her only chance was to maintain her cover. If she couldn't do that, her mission was over. She spent months tracking down leads, leads that led to the Holocrons, but hadn't been able to confirm they were the target. Not yet. She couldn't fail now; she refused to give up. Not when she was so close.

"Spare me, please!" she whimpered, doing her best to present herself as an innocuous slave. She had worn the servant's masquerade long enough to have acclimated to its mannerisms; she prayed they would be enough.

Astraad glanced from Sierra to Orthas, then seized her by the wrist and dragged her out. "One of Miro's slaves."

"Get rid of her," commanded Orthas. "And have the soldiers burn this place to the ground."

Astraad turned sharply toward his master. "My lord? What of Miro's secrets? The Ancient Sorcery and its holocrons?"

Orthas turned away; Sierra thought she detected a note of apprehension at the mention of the artifacts.

"I have denied Darth Siphon her ally," said the Darth. "That is enough. I need no holocron to seize victory from that charlatan."

"But if you leave here without it ... what if another were to find -"

Sierra saw her opportunity. "I know where they are. I can show you the way."

"You speak truth?" asked Astraad, turning upon her, gaze piercing her eyes.

"I don't need the Holocrons," repeated Orthas, turning back to grab his disciple by the scruff of his collar. "Your hearing seems impaired of late, Astraad."

Sierra could feel the tension in the air thicken, like blood congealing.

The apprentice lord spoke with remarkable calm. "Master, we must retrieve the relics. You have to see that, even if you do not wish their power. If they were to fall into the hands of your enemies ... if they were to fall into Siphon's hands! Your influence is vast, but we must still deny those who oppose us opportunities for that same might, or this Kaggath will never end."

Orthas stared at his follower for a long moment before finally releasing him, weighing the counsel of his words with what Sierra could only assume was the vision Miro had instilled in him. "Fine," he said. "We will retrieve the relics … and once I have them, I will lock them away so that no one - least of all Siphon - will ever see even a sliver of its power."

Sierra watched as Astraad stared back at Orthas, then turned to her. "Take us to them, and you will be spared."

Sierra bowed her head. For now, she had secured her life.

For now, her mission could continue.

* * *

 _Present Day_

Lethe stood over Hadrax and Cyriak's corpses. Their former disciples surrounded her in a circle, prostrating themselves before her, submissive to her will. They were hers once more. She had eliminated her rivals and restored her powerbase. Once more, she wielded all that Darth Siphon had earned.

She smiled, wide and exhilarated.

A friend approached and she turned to greet her with open arms. It was a friend she had not seen in years, had almost forgotten in the chaos of her recent trials. Almost, but not quite. Not fully. Never fully. Not her.

As they embraced, Lethe whispered her victory. "I have it now. Everything we need. All the power. Enough so that the Empire will be as we foresaw. Enough so that even the Dark Council can but bow to our will."

Lethe's friend smiled at her, but it was a bittersweet, tinged with regret. She gingerly stroked Lethe's cheek with her thumb, wiping away the scars, the pain, the subtle discolorations that came with leveraging the Dark. Her mask. All of it was gone. Wiped clean.

It had been so long since she felt another's touch upon her face … how she missed it. How she longed for it.

"We will reshape the Empire," said Lethe. "We will make it so that allies need never be pitted against each other. So that the bonds of friendship, of sisterhood, can survive petty squabbles and worthless tests. We have what we need for a new way. We just need to act. We just need to be brave."

But her friend shook her head, struggling to hold back tears.

Lethe didn't understand. "This is what we talked about. Together, we can do this. You and me, Retra. We will -"

Retra pointed to her disciples. Lethe turned to gaze upon the circle of her repentant apprentices, but now only their bodies remained. They were all dead. An ache surged in Lethe's heart as she stumbled backwards; each of their pallid eyes stared back at her, defiant and accusatory. They were innocent, and still she had killed them.

Why?

Then, Retra pointed to Hadrax and Cyriak's corpses. Where once they laid in macabre stillness, now, there were two women on their feet, facing each other. The first was suddenly Retra, vanished from Lethe's side, tears streaming down her face. The second held a holocron in one hand and a crimson lightsaber in the other, its blade about to pierce Retra's heart.

 _No._

Her arm leaped forward, grabbing the second woman's shoulder. The woman whirled around, but Lethe could not discern her reaction. Not with her face empty of all features, devoid of eyes, a nose, and a mouth. Faceless. Soulless. A chill ran down Lethe's spine as the woman turned back around to Retra, except … it was Lethe herself. She held the lightsaber. She held the Holocron. Her feet dragged her forward to advance on her friend, blood and menace in the air. No matter how hard she tried to pull back her weapon, she could not. The Holocron spurred her forward, speaking with a voice that seemed to echo in the darkness. It hungered. It thirsted. It demanded sacrifice, demanded submission.

Once more, Lethe advanced.

"You promised me you would never forget!" Retra screamed, sobbing. "We are friends! We are sisters! It was supposed to be you and me. You and me! Together! Like it's always been."

"It will be! It can be!"

"Not anymore, Darth Siphon. Not anymore."

"Don't call me that. That's not me. You know who I am, Retra. You know the truth!"

"I know what you've become. I know what you are. Pretender. Usurper. Impostor. Darth Siphon."

Lethe stabbed her blade forward into Retra's gut, helpless to stop herself. As Retra crumpled to the ground, Lethe screamed, so loud the world shattered into a thousand shards of glass, each of them mirrors, each of them painting a golden mask upon her face: a radiant prison from which she could never escape.

Lethe woke, covered in sweat.

But she could no longer tell whether the nightmare had ended.


	31. Interlopers - Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

* * *

 _Lords' Quarters, Siphon's Citadel_

"Now that Siphon is victorious over her traitors, now that the Holocron has so thoroughly entranced her … Astraad, we have to come up with a plan to separate her from that thing."

Sierra stood at Astraad's doorstep, praying the pureblood gazing at her would agree.

Slowly, he beckoned her within his chambers. Sierra did as requested, stepping into the meager room and setting herself down on the nearby sectional.

"Where is she now?" asked Astraad, pouring them both tea.

"On her way back to the Citadel. She had one of Hadrax's disciples relay a transmission that said she would be returning with all of them in tow. Astraad, we have to step in, before she decides to sacrifice them all as well. Before it's too late."

He handed her a cup before nursing his own. "We need to discuss something else first."

"What could possibly -"

"I know who you are … Sierra."

She stared at him blankly, too stunned to compose speech. Could he really know?

Her mouth to opened to feign ignorance, but he cut her off before she could protest. "You don't need to lie anymore. I know."

The gravity of his words convinced Sierra that Astraad spoke the truth … but how?

"You are Jedi," said Astraad. "Your true loyalties are with them."

There was no use in lying. She could feel it on her flesh, the miniscule hairs raising into the air as they heard the truth spoken aloud. Her first instinct was to flee, to fight, to hide the evidence and run … but something about the way Astraad spoke demanded her attention.

She shook her head in disbelief. " … how did you find out?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm not going to tell Siphon."

This didn't make any sense.

"You're here to investigate the Holocron, aren't you?" asked Astraad. "Am I correct in assuming that's all you're here for?"

Slowly, Sierra nodded. It was true.

"You're right," Astraad continued. "We have to separate the Holocron from Siphon's side. We need to get her to relinquish it, or everything we could be, the paragon of unity and vision that could be her powerbase … all of it will be for naught. Which is why, I need to know … how much support you and your brethren can bring to this effort."

"You'd accept a Jedi's aid?" asked Sierra, still too stunned to fully understand what was happening.

"I told you before, didn't I? I believe in Siphon's way. But the Holocron is corrupting her. It is anathema to everything that we strive for. If I must rely on Jedi to see that it cannot threaten the future that Siphon sees, so be it."

"How do I know you're not just going to turn around and betray me?" Sierra asked.

"I could've chosen to keep you in the dark. I could've turned you in, could've tortured you for information, pried into your mind for your Jedi secrets. But I didn't. There comes a time when saving an ally is more important than destroying an enemy. This is such a time."

That much she could believe. If he was really her enemy, he would not have revealed his knowledge. He could have - should have - kept her in the dark.

"So … what?" asked Sierra, not bothering to hide a trace of her incredulity. "We steal the Holocron from Siphon … and you just let me walk away with it?"

"So long as Siphon cannot access it, I do not care where you take it. Destroy it, if you can. But Darth Miro was convinced of its invulnerability."

"You're not afraid that the Jedi will use the Holocron's power against the Empire as a whole?"

Astraad was hiding something. He had to be; Sierra was sure of it. She couldn't be so lucky as to have stumbled across the only Sith in the galaxy who would be willing to overlook her true identity in an effort to save his master. Willing to let her have the Holocron and all its power. What else was in play?

The pureblood only laughed. "You're joking, right? The Jedi, use the Holocron? You've seen the effects of its use. I assumed you would present a convincing account of its dangers to your Jedi masters and ensure no one would ever wish to use the Holocron again."

" … fair point." Sierra stared back up at Astraad, still contemplating his words and her options. "… I just find it hard to believe that any Sith would do what you are proposing. You call yourself a patriot, but I think many within your Empire would call you a traitor. Argue that what you are proposing would weaken the Empire as a whole."

Astraad smiled. "You don't trust me. I understand."

Sierra watched him pace a few steps. Could he be speaking the truth? Could he really care so much for Siphon's ideals that he would risk everything?

"Have I ever told you about my time spent serving alongside Darth Malgus?" asked Astraad.

Sierra shook her head.

"I suppose it was not the service that matters, but his influence. He spoke of many things in our time together … of strengthening the Empire with alliances with aliens. Of respect for tolerance. Of unity. Before Malgus made himself the False Emperor, he tried to recruit me. I saw in him an opportunity for a different empire, one built upon a stronger foundation, one not beholden to ancient tradition and outdated prejudice. I must admit, I debated joining him for a very long time … but then he was slain within his space station and the opportunity passed. His New Empire died with him, gone before its time."

Astraad continued, "I now see echoes of Malgus' philosophy in Siphon's way. I see the mirror that reflects their values. In her, I see the strongest remembrance for the so-called 'False' Emperor that there ever was. Not false, but new. Restored. Reborn. She is a chance for the Empire to be a force, if not for good, then one for peace. For harmony."

"For that, I am willing to do whatever it takes. For that, I can work with Jedi. For that … I can name myself traitor."

The words he spoke were genuine; of that, Sierra had no doubt. She could feel it … that, or Astraad was the best damn liar she had ever met. The Empire he described was one that should be lauded, should be acclaimed. Peace to the galaxy. Harmony to the Force. Sierra could understand now. She might just have found a true ally.

And perhaps, together they could preserve this chance for the Empire to change.

" … alright," said Sierra. "I believe you."

She crossed her fingers and prayed she made the right choice ... not that she had much of a choice.

A small smile flashed across Astraad's face before it turned serious once more. "Thank you, Sierra. Now, we must decide what to do with Siphon and her relic. And you must tell me what support you can bring."

"It's not so simple," said Sierra. "My masters may not be willing to just blindly aid us. They already want to pull me out of this operation altogether."

"You have to convince them then. Together, one way or another, we must bring this Holocron's story to its conclusion."

Whatever they were going to do, they only had sixteen hours left before the rendezvous.

* * *

 _Throne Room, Siphon's Citadel_

Twinspire Keep burned behind her.

The place was a relic of ages past, a ruin of cold metal and ancient stone, no longer relevant to the world that was about to be. It was a symbol of everything that she wanted to leave behind. It held a memory of the Lethe that once was: the foolish girl that picked up a mask and thought that it would be the only thing she needed to seize power, victory ... freedom. That all her dreams could be achieved by that one simple act.

How naive. How childish.

Lethe pushed the thoughts from her mind. Her past follies did not matter now. Not when she had the Holocron.

The journey back to her Citadel passed in a blur. The betrayers' disciples followed behind her shuttle in vehicles of their own. She had not yet decided what she would do with them once they arrived. She had hoped that a night's rest at the Keep would restore clarity to her mind, would return reason and logic to her course of action, but her sleep had been plagued by dreams. They clouded her thoughts and muddied her desires. She no longer knew what she wanted.

But the Holocron knew.

Lethe glanced to the artifact in her palm, a pyramid borne of six smaller pyramids - fragments united to unlock the whole. She sensed its mood, its emotion. It wanted all her betrayers' lives in retribution for their treachery. It wanted their lives in sacrifice for even greater power. It wanted their lives to appease its unending, infinite hunger, one that Lethe could but admit would never be satisfied. She felt herself twisting, bending to its desire; she wanted what it wanted. She hungered for what it hungered.

But did she really? Did she really want to kill these Sith? Some could argue their crime was choosing the wrong master, not unrepentant sedition. Some of them even bowed willingly to her now, some she could be assured of renewed loyalty. It did not have to end in death for all of them. This wasn't what she had wanted, what she had strived to achieve. This wasn't why she took Siphon's mask.

The vision of a litter of corpses strewn about her, sacrificed for her own gain, flashed before her eyes and regret stirred in her heart.

How could she? How could she have killed them? Innocents. Loyal servants and apprentices, allies and friends? How could she have betrayed … everything? Everything for which she fought. Everything for which she sacrificed. Their blood stained her hands, not ephemeral, but permanent. Binding.

The Holocron whispered to her: _they were not worthy. They were not enough. It needed more. She needed more. And she had them, lined up and ready to be served._

Within the Citadel's throne room, the traitors that followed Hadrax and Cyriak arranged themselves in a single row before her and sank to their knees. They lowered themselves and begged for her mercy.

It would be so simple to take their lives for herself. Just as she had already done. So easy. She wouldn't even have to think about it. The Holocron would do it for her, offered her this service. She needed only to grant her permission, to accept its aid, to submit herself to its whim.

To let it take control.

And then all that power would be hers. Power enough to achieve victory over anyone. Anything. Victory enough to seize the freedom she so craved, the liberation that -

Sierra's words echoed in her mind: _"What have you done?!"_

Sierra and Astraad entered the throne room. They were an odd pair: the sith pureblood with a cybernetic arm and the human girl with strawberry blonde hair. But they walked with purposeful intent. Lethe could sense their emotions across the walkway: anxiety, uncertainty, fear. They hid them well, of course. There was no trace of those things upon their faces, no visible sign of distress … but she was beyond the limitations of physical senses now. She felt their emotions as if they were her own.

A flicker of hope stirred in her breast.

They circled around the row of Hadrax's followers before reorienting themselves towards her. They bowed in unison and offered their ministrations.

"Master," said Sierra.

"Darth Siphon," said Astraad. "You've returned earlier than we anticipated."

From behind her golden mask, Lethe glanced from one to the other, ignoring Astraad's offhand comment. "Have you come to watch me lay judgment upon these wretched traitors?"

They shared a look of uncertainty. Clearly, they had arranged this supplication together.

Sierra was the first to speak. "Your power swells, master. You seized victory against Hadrax, against Cyriak, against dozens of their strongest. Unaided. Alone."

Lethe stared at her apprentice in silence. Did the girl think honeyed words would sway her decision?

 _But … what would be her decision?_

"It's enough. You said it yourself. You have what you need. These lives can be spared … and we can show all the Empire that there's a better way."

Still, the girl sought to return her to her failed ideology.

Lethe turned to Astraad. "What of you? Are you in agreement with Lord Eris?"

Astraad bowed his head once more, then glanced to Sierra once again. Lethe could almost see the wheels turn behind his eyes, the calculations being made. Astraad was as cunning as Cyriak, but free of the sycophant's cowardice. Lethe suspected that he made no decision lightly, that no counsel would spring from his mouth without it being analyzed a dozen ways from yesterday.

" … I am, my lord. But …"

Sierra turned to Astraad now. Her face betrayed no emotion, but Lethe could sense the heightened tension that seeped from the girl's every pore.

"Speak your mind, Astraad. And be quick about it."

The pureblood nodded. "Lord Eris is right … but there are considerations beyond hers that make mercy the wiser course of action."

"And those would be?"

" … we tread precarious waters, my lord. Our followers' numbers have dwindled considerably. If we accept these wayward acolytes back into our fold, we have a fighting chance to salvage the powerbase. Without them … we are but three sith and a smattering of soldiers to our name. Your name. Your influence on the galactic stage would be reduced close to nil."

Lethe detected a slight note of relief emanating from Sierra.

"Followers can be recruited and replaced," she said, turning back to Astraad.

"That is true. But I suspect it will be difficult to coerce fealty if word spreads that our master makes it a habit of sacrificing her pawns."

"Fear is a convincing motivator, is it not?"

The words sounded strange coming from her lips, like they didn't belong there. Like she hadn't intended to speak them. Sierra could not hide the furrow in her brow or the frown forming at the corner of her lips but Astraad chose to switch tactics. "There is also the matter of the Dark Council."

"What of them?" Lethe sneered. Again, it was her tongue that moved, her mouth that formed the syllables, the tenor, the tone. And still, the words seemed foreign to her, even as she spoke them. "I'm surprised those pompous bureaucrats even remember the planet Ziost, much less pay attention to New Adasta and its Sith."

"I have received word suggesting recent events in the capital have drawn their attention. We already know Sith Intelligence has agents on the planet. If they were to learn of what you've done, what you've accomplished …"

"They would _what?_ What would they do? What could they do to me now?"

"I -" Astraad glanced to Sierra, who shook her head ever so slightly, a gesture so small Lethe might have missed it.

"What's this?" asked Lethe. "I just finished putting down two traitors and two more reveal themselves to conspire against me?"

Sierra shook her head. "No, master. We have always been your faithful disciples. Don't you see? This is the Holocron. Your paranoia, your overreaction to every single thing you see or hear. This is not your way. This is not what is needed to rejuvenate the Empire!"

"Not this tired refrain. I told you. I have no use for ideals that -"

No. That wasn't right. Lethe wanted to return to those ideals. Or … she thought she did.

A spark of pain ignited in her forehead and then a wave of contempt trampled over her mind. Who did it come from? Astraad? Sierra?

Both of them glanced once more to each other. Sierra nodded to the pureblood, and he began directing the traitorous disciples out of the throne room.

 _"No."_ Lethe spoke the word and made it her will, made it _everyone's_ will.

But was it her will? Why did she feel like she wanted them to leave? Wanted them to save themselves?

Every single one of Hadrax's followers stopped in their tracks, as did Astraad and Sierra. Lethe stepped down from her throne, poised and graceful, weaving through the line of pureblood men and women. Her gloved hands traced their shoulders and profiles, probed at their eyes and ears. They brimmed with life. Every single one of them called out to her, called out to the Holocron, like beacons waiting to be consumed. Lethe's vision filled with an unnatural radiance.

"M-master … stop! Please!"

Sierra's words brushed upon her ears like wind. Fleeting. They were nothing. All of them were nothing. Nothing but fuel for a fire, tinder for the spark that surged forward with eager need, aching to be released, trembling with excitement.

But then, why did her heart fill with dread?

Lethe withdrew the Holocron of Ancient Sorcery from her sleeve. She brushed her lips upon it in an effervescent kiss, and then levitated it into the air. She found the nearest apprentice, embraced her. The Holocron spun overhead, accelerating, ravenous in its impatience.

No. _NO._ She didn't want this. She didn't want to do this. Sierra was right. This wasn't her way. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She was to be the master of the Holocron, not the other way around! She was supposed to force her enemies into submission, not submit herself to a relic she could not control!

No matter how hard she tried, she could not stop herself.

The apprentice struggled to free herself, but it was futile. Lethe's arms wrapped around the poor girl too tight for her to move, too strong for her flailing to have any effect. And as they constricted, the girl slowly began to gasp for breath, wheeze for air … until even that pitiful act was beyond her power and her face and eyes froze in the permanent stare of final mortality. She felt the Force shudder and twist, bending as the pureblood's life seeped from her body and into the air, into the waiting maw above them.

"Help me!" The words escaped Lethe's mouth before she could stop them, a whisper upon the air that she could not retract … but did she want to retract them? No, she didn't. She needed help. She needed someone to help her, someone to save her.

Astraad. Sierra. Retra! Anyone!

The Holocron laughed, radiating its euphoria in the form of a crimson halo, painting them all in shades of red.

The Force surged around Sierra - she summoned it to break her shackles, rending Lethe's paralyzing invocation to pieces through the power of an implacable will. She thrusted her palm outwards, directing the Force to slam into Lethe, sending her flying back towards her own throne. The Holocron followed, almost like it was drawn to her; but the impact of a collision with the ground dissipated Lethe's hold over the room.

"Astraad, get them out!"

"But what about -"

"I can handle her! Get them to safety!"

The girl thought she could handle her master. How quaint. How amusing.

Astraad wasted no time, rallying the rest of Hadrax's followers and leading them out of the throne room. Lethe stood up slowly, watched them depart. She didn't care. They could run if they wished, for what little good it would do them. Did they think they could outrun her? Hide from her? Her power was ancient, boundless, infinite!

"Let go of the Holocron, master. I'm begging you."

It was in her hands. Lethe hadn't even realized.

"You're going to handle me, are you?" she asked, chuckling softly. "The apprentice thinks she can take her master's place?"

Sierra responded by surging the Force towards her, so powerful that it bound Lethe's arms to her side, her feet together, her hands to stillness. There it was, again. Power that no mere apprentice could lay claim.

"No, master. We are trying to save you, even if you cannot see our actions for what they are!"

 _They were trying to help. Sierra was trying to save her._

"Save me?!" Lethe's laughter exploded outwards from her mask. "Save me from what?! From glory?! From omnipotence?!"

"From the Holocron. From yourself. Your words, your actions, your power … they're no longer yours. The Holocron has seeped inside of them all, twisted them, corrupted you! Let it go! Don't let it turn you against yourself!"

Lethe felt her mouth curl into a wide and contemptuous grin. "If this is corruption, then I embrace it! I revel in it!"

 _No. No, I don't!_

"I know the real you is still inside, I know you can be saved! You have to fight! You have to free yourself!"

Sierra was right. Lethe had to fight. She had to expel the Holocron's influence. She had to free herself, had to break these chains that held her in bondage, that held her hostage to her own corporeal form. Her own mind.

Her body had other ideas. It struggled against the stasis field that Sierra had conjured, but the girl's mastery of the Force was strong and even she - with all the power the Holocron gave her - could not break free.

Not yet.

"This is the real me! I am the Holocron's witness! Its heir! Through me, it brings forth an Empire to surmount all that has been. Together, we are a cleansing fire, a purge that heralds the dawn of a new age!"

Lethe had never wanted to shut herself up more.

"I don't believe that," said Sierra. "The Siphon I know would not put herself above the rest of the Empire, her allies, her friends! Release the Holocron! You can still be her! You can still be Siphon!"

Lethe's mouth exploded in exhilarated guffaws. "You don't even know who you're talking to, little girl. _I am not Siphon. I never have been."_

Stunned, Sierra dropped her guard. In that instant, Lethe shattered the morass of energy around her, then swung out her arm to force Sierra to the ground. Even her apprentice's newfound strength was no match. Not against her. Not against the Holocron. Sierra could but yield; she could but submit.

Sierra sank to her knees; Lethe could not tell whether the disbelief in the girl's eyes came from the revelation she had just learned or the fact that her conjuring had been broken.

Lethe felt her legs advance on their own. In the back of her mind, she heard Retra's voice, screaming: _"You promised me you would never forget! You and me! Together! Like it's always been."_

She hadn't meant to reveal her secret. Hadn't wanted to. She wanted to stop … and she tried. She focused all her strength, all her will. but to no avail.

"Did you ever suspect?" Lethe's mask asked with glee. "Did you ever guess at the truth? I am the impostor. I was all along."

"Y-you … you're the impostor. The Siphon that attacked us … she was the real one?"

Chuckling, Lethe nodded. "I stole her mask. I stole her identity. It was remarkable, really. How easy it was. How many legions bowed before me because of this cold, metal face. Because of this ... theater."

Lethe leaned in to Sierra, tipping up her chin so that the empty voids of her mask could pierce her eyes. They were a crisp blue, clear as a sky and yet deep as a sea.

Just like Retra's.

"Once I was but a lord. Lethe. You've never even heard the name, have you? It is a name forgotten, obliterated to history. The mask is all that is left."

"Was any of it true?" asked Sierra. "Anything you told me? About … your way. Your dreams."

"Of course n-" Lethe paused.

Suddenly, Sierra's eyes were upon her again.

Her mouth tried again. "N-. They were- N-."

But Lethe would not allow it. This much, she could do. A few syllables. A few vowels. This much she could stop.

"They were," Sierra breathed.

"Shut up, you stupid girl!" Her left hand still clutching the Holocron, Lethe lifted her right hand into the air above her head, surged lightning into it, formed a blade of electricity.

"NO!" Astraad leaped from out of nowhere, interjected himself between Lethe and Sierra, and then grabbed Lethe's wrist as her hand slashed downwards. Lethe had charged too much of the Force into her hand for it to be stopped. Astraad succeeded only in diverting her attack; her hand collided with his cybernetic arm, surging electricity into the metal, fulminating his flesh.

Astraad screamed as his metallic limb shattered.

Lethe summoned the Force to hurl Astraad's body away; it landed with a thud across the room. With Lethe's concentration shattered, Sierra broke free of her master's compulsion; before Lethe could verify that Astraad was down for the count, Sierra seized both her wrists in her own, shaking them and her whole body, as if she could rattle the Holocron from Lethe's hand.

"Release me!" Lethe hissed, kicking at her apprentice with inartful thrusts, borne of urgency rather than skill. "Take your hands off me!"

"Release the Holocron and we'll talk!"

Lethe summoned the Force to compel her will. Sierra stood ready; Lethe's psychic assault met a mental defense, the power of which Lethe had only ever seen from Darths. Was Sierra always this strong?! If Lethe could not penetrate this barrier, how had Beral done it? Could the girl have capitulated willingly?!

No matter. The Holocron was still in her hand. She needed but to let its ancient knowledge course through her, empower her, fill her with the strength of a hundred Sith Lords, the brilliance of a thousand suns. She called on it now, waited for the familiar feeling of adrenaline, the thrill of the Holocron's forbidden touch. None could stand before her. All would submit!

It did not come.

Why?! Why wouldn't the power come?! What had the girl done to her? How could she have stifled the artifact's will? She glared at Sierra, thrust another mental attack forward, sought to pierce those blue eyes to find the consciousness behind them, shatter those irises to -

And then Lethe understood. It wasn't just Sierra. It was Retra. It was her allies. Her friends. They fought for her. They fought to save her.

And that was why she could not let the Holocron win.

Power - borne from allegiance, fealty, unity - surged through her veins, washing away the Holocron's corruption, if only for a few seconds. She stilled her body, ceased her thrashing. Her mouth spoke her own words once more, no longer twisted by the cursed relic's will.

" … help me."

"I will, master," said Sierra, panting, struggling to keep her voice calm. "Let go of the Holocron. All you need to do is let go."

"It's … so strong. I don't know … I don't know if I can …"

"You can, master. I know you can."

Slowly, Sierra released her wrists, placing one hand instead below Lethe's hand - the hand that still clutched the Holocron like her life depended on it.

All she needed to do was let go. But the Holocron did not want to be released, did not want to be forsaken. It had consumed so much under Lethe's care - it would not release its caretaker so easily. Even moving a single finger on that hand a centimeter's distance seemed a monumental task.

"One at a time," Sierra breathed. "You can do it. I believe in you."

One at a time. Slowly. Arduously. Lethe lifted her pinky finger, freed it from the Holocron. It felt like it bore the weight of a mountain and only the artifact provided any respite. It felt as though the Holocron was a magnet and her fingers were made of metal, drawn to it, in spite of her will.

Her pinky freed itself.

And then she lifted another.

And another.

The only thing that kept the Holocron of Ancient Sorcery from falling into Sierra's waiting hands now was her index finger. Her thumb. One held the relic at its pyramid's tip, the other at its base. Lethe needed only to loosen one, and the damned thing would tip over, would topple. She didn't care where Sierra took it. She didn't want to think about it. All she wanted - all she needed - was to know in her heart that while her mask might keep her imprisoned in another woman's identity, her will could not be bound.

Just one more.

And then, the Holocron shot out of her flimsy grip, flew across the room, shrieked its fury in both Lethe's ears and her mind. She did not care - it was gone! It was done! She was free of the blasted thing, at last. At last!

She didn't understand though. Why did it not fall into Sierra's waiting hands? Why had it flown across the room? Had the girl done it? Lethe looked up to her apprentice, whose mouth stood open in shock, head turned to look across the room. Her eyes followed her apprentice's to the solitary figure that stood there, haughty and victorious, eyes glistening with unrepentant lust as they gazed upon the insidious artifact now in their possession.

"Why thank you, my treacherous apprentice. I think I'll be taking this now."

 _The real Siphon._

Before Lethe could react, a storm of electric fulmination swallowed the entirety of her vision and stole from her all consciousness.


	32. Interlopers - Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

* * *

Astraad watched as the real Siphon slammed a torrent of dark-side energy into her impostor's form; his master convulsed, her scream reverberating through the throne room, then crumpled to the floor.

The real Siphon fled towards the shuttlepad exit, victorious jubilation following in her wake.

As he picked himself up and ambled towards the throne, the Jedi girl raced to her false master's side, checked for a pulse, then activated her comlink. "Thresh! Siphon needs medical attention!"

"Go!" Astraad shouted at the girl, still clutching at his shattered cybernetic arm. "You have to go after the Holocron!"

Sierra nodded, then shouted, "You'll take care of Si -"

The girl paused as she struggled to find the right name for the masked sith lying at her feet. Even Astraad had to admit the situation had left clarity far behind: before him stood a Jedi masquerading as Sith, professing loyalty to an impostor trapped in the true Siphon's mask. It would have been amusing, had this series of pretenders not come so close to derailing everything he had worked to achieve.

"Lethe," Astraad offered, panting heavily as he finally found himself within striking distance of the pair.

"Yes. You'll take care of her?"

"I'll get her to a kolto tank. But if the real Siphon unlocks the Holocron's power, none of us are safe."

"I know. I didn't risk my life saving Lethe from that accursed artifact," said Sierra, the unfamiliar name rolling in awkward fashion off her tongue, "just to empower her enemies so they could kill her."

"Take this," said Astraad. He withdrew a tracking device from his sleeve, handing it to Sierra. "I planted a tracking device in the Holocron months ago. In case you lose her trail."

Sierra arched an incredulous brow towards him; Astraad jerked his head towards the shuttlepad and thanked the stars that the urgency of the situation didn't afford the Jedi much opportunity to question him. She grabbed the small device from his hand and then sped outwards after Siphon.

Astraad watched Sierra go. As the Jedi faded from sight, he immediately made for the turbolifts, not bothering to wait for the security detail Thresh had no doubt already sent.

There was no way Sierra would be a match for the real Siphon. Not if Orthas had fallen to her blade. The Jedi would need help. And Astraad knew exactly who he would ask.

He activated his comlink.

"Thresh. Get me the com frequency we spoke about. I need to make a call."

* * *

It was barely noon. The sun beamed overhead, painting Ziost's skies once more with bright and deep blues. The roar of New Adasta's commuter from below the Citadel's landing platform overwhelmed nearly all other sounds; speeders and shuttles catapulted by the stronghold with frightening velocity, their combined engines uniting in a choral din.

As Sierra raced onto the landing platform outside the Citadel, she watched as Siphon - the real Siphon - leaped over the edge.

Before she had time to even suspect that Siphon had just leapt to her death, a speeder ascended upwards from behind the platform. The red-headed driver was unfamiliar, but Sierra recognized its other two occupants - the real Siphon, and the lord who seared Siphon's mask onto Lethe's face: Lord Rend.

 _Hells!_

The shuttle Lethe had taken back from Twinspire Keep still sat upon the landing pad, but in current traffic, it would be too easy for Siphon and her allies to outpace her in a more maneuverable vehicle. The Citadel's speeders were still in the garage level. Sierra could head there and follow Siphon with Astraad's tracker, but the more time the Darth had to unravel the Holocron's mysteries, the less likely Sierra would be able to defeat her and get the Holocron back.

A horrible idea sparked in her mind.

Sierra bounded towards the edge of the platform. Siphon's speeder had already wound its way into the sparkling line of speeders heading south - out of the City. The longer she waited, the less likely she could salvage the mission. She needed to make a decision.

She stared into the distance. She watched as the northern horizon birthed a stream of speeders flowing south. She took a deep breath, a few steps back. She ran forward, empowered by the Force … and then jumped.

Hurtling through the air, she cursed her foolhardiness.

She landed face-first into the open passenger seat of a Desler Explorer. Its driver screamed in abject terror as the speeder rocked from end to end from the impact of her collision, her momentum almost pushing the Desler into an accelerating Koreallis. The terrified screech of the other speeder's emergency horn blared out from the driver's side.

"What the hell?!"

Sierra scrambled to get her bearings, wincing as she adjusted her bruised limbs into its seat. The Force had cushioned her from what otherwise would have been certain death, but she could not protect against everything.

She shoved the tracker at the driver. "Follow this!"

The man was a red-skinned zabrak, dressed in noble finery, mouth still agape at the arrival of his uninvited passenger. "Who do you think you are?!"

Sierra didn't have time for courtesies; she imbued her voice with the Force and compelled the driver's cooperation. "You want to obey my orders. You will follow that speeder."

The zabrak's monotone repetition of her words confirmed her success.

"Gun it!"

Right on cue, her driver accelerated. He weaved them through dozens of furious vehicles, each of them trumpeting their displeasure with increasing enthusiasm. In the distance, she could just spot the runabout carrying Siphon and her allies making its way towards a traffic intersection.

* * *

"We've got a tail."

Tosin issued the warning while seated in the back of their getaway speeder, body twisting awkwardly so he could get a better look. He was sure of it now. A green Desler snaked through the traffic behind them; its precarious path almost led it to collide with several merging vehicles as it gained on their position. As the Desler approached, Tosin got a good look at the passenger: Lord Eris, the impostor's lieutenant.

"Get rid of it then!" Siphon barked.

"How am I supposed to do that?" asked Tosin.

"Figure it out, you simpleton! I still need time to examine the Holocron; you can get rid of a few pursuers!"

"Shut up please!" said Hallie, not bothering to hide the aggravation in her tone. "Unless you'd like me to crash our flying vehicle while it's a bajillion meters off the ground?"

Siphon ignored Hallie. "Do it, Rend!"

Tosin cursed beneath his breath. He considered trying to electrify the area behind him, but the thought of collateral damage gave him pause. He was done killing on whim for Siphon. That … and he still was not sure whether he could rely on his dark side powers anymore. Instead, he dug through the pack beside him and pulled out two blaster pistols. They felt clumsy in his hands, but he had seen Hallie and other soldiers use the weapons more than enough times. How hard could it be?

He squeezed the triggers and fired twin volleys of crimson and emerald blaster bolts at the fast-encroaching Desler.

All of them missed their mark.

"What the hell!" shouted Hallie over the roar of speeder traffic, as she swerved to avoid crashing into the Vectron Magnus in front of them. "Are you seriously shooting Sniper AND Operative, Toes?!"

Tosin fired off another few shots; a few grazed the side of their pursuing Desler, but none of them found their mark. "You named your blaster pistols Sniper and Operative?"

"Yeah, just so you know, Sniper's never missed and Operative's only outfitted with KOLTO INJECTIONS."

Oh. Whoops ...

"Sniper misses all the time …" Tosin grumbled sheepishly. Traffic's din drowned him out.

He tossed the green blaster pistol back into the pack and refocused his efforts on his remaining weapon. Another volley of crimson blaster fire erupted from Sniper. This time, one of his shots found its mark on the driver … or, it would have, had Eris not swiped her lightsaber up at the last moment to deflect the bolt.

Tosin was fast growing to appreciate how annoying lightsabers could be.

"Enough!" Siphon screamed. "Must I do everything myself!?"

For a second, everything grew dimmer as they passed under another speeder skyway above them.

He glanced to Siphon; she had stood up in her seat. Her eyes darted from their pursuers to the intersecting line of speeders above them. Tosin realized too late what she was going to do. His former master's hand shot out from her side, sending a massive surge of lightning upwards, slamming it into the skyway. Instantly, speeders exploded in massive balls of fire. Some careened off course, spinning wildly as they lost thrusters and gravitational lift, cascading downwards into the traffic below them. Vehicles behind the initial explosion either couldn't stop in time, or were rear-ended into the electrified detonation zone, doomed to share a grisly fate. Fiery wreckage rained down, bringing all of the speeders behind them to a grinding halt.

Tosin watched in horror as Siphon sat back down and returned her attention to the Holocron, unmoved, unconcerned by the atrocity she had just unleashed.

* * *

Sierra watched as a torrent of burning speeder parts and metallic debris promised to crush them in mere seconds.

"Oh, this is so not good."

Her zabrak companion did not respond, still compelled to focus on chasing the real Siphon's runabout.

"Evade! Evade!"

Her driver complied to the best of his ability, but he was no speeder saint. Try as he might to avoid the tumbling wreckage, the zabrak could not navigate the deluge of rubble. Sierra summoned the Force to grind a flaming Czerka Executive to a halt mere centimeters above their heads. A body fell out of the driver seat, plummeting too fast for Sierra to save them. All she could do was heave the wreckage above off to the side.

Other commuters weren't as lucky as her; massive chunks of debris slammed into the speeders on both their sides, sending them crashing downward to the planet's surface. One Praxon Aero managed to survive being sent into a tailspin, only to have a shard of durasteel slam into their engine; the speeder and its driver exploded in an enormous ball of fire.

"Get us out of here!"

Her zabrak driver was already doing that, but it made her feel better to scream it all the same.

* * *

"They made it through!" Tosin shouted over the roar of the explosions behind them.

"We should head back to Central District!" Hallie responded. "Lose our tail in the commute!"

"No!" said Siphon. "We go to Twinspire!"

"We'll have to exit the skyway," objected Hallie. "We'll never get them off our backs in the open wilderness!"

Siphon hissed, "It's one measly girl! I can take her, even if you fools can't!"

Tosin quietly prayed that Siphon's efforts would not involve another mass slaughter. "You have the Holocron, Siphon! Give us Andora's location and we'll drop you wherever you want!"

"I'm not done with either of you yet!"

"Our agreement -"

"We'll discuss it at Twinspire!" screamed Siphon. "Do not test me any further, or that twi'lek will never see the light of day again!"

* * *

They finally cleared the wall of fire. Sierra watched as Siphon's speeder made a sudden swerve to exit the skyway and head into the wilderness; they were heading south. Towards Twinspire?

"Don't lose them!"

She pulled out her holocom. She needed to get in touch with her masters. Their rendezvous hour was fast approaching - if she could get them to relocate the rendezvous point, to aid her in seizing the Holocron from the real Siphon, everything would work out. She would have saved Lethe and preserved the chance for a reformed Empire, while taking custody of the artifact she had been hunting for so many months.

But it would be much easier if she didn't have to face her quarry alone.

In truth, she needed her masters' help. She couldn't hope to beat both Siphon and Rend, especially not if Siphon had the Holocron. She couldn't be sure the Darth had worked out its secrets already, but it was a risk she couldn't take. If Lethe had grown to such power with the Holocron's knowledge, how powerful would the real Siphon become?

Her fingers adjusted the com frequency and then opened a channel. "Masters! Can you hear me?!"

The unending cacophony behind Sierra prevented her from identifying the master that spoke, but she could still make out the words. "We hear you, Sierra! Be careful, we're on our way to intercept the Holocron!"

What? How did they already know?

"Who - how do you …" she struggled to make sense of the situation before deciding to prioritize reason. "I have tracking coordinates! I'll forward-"

"We have them! Your - sith - friend debriefed us on the situation. Follow, but don't engage until we've made contact! We're on our way!"

Astraad? How did he know how to get in touch with her masters? She hadn't given him their -

Another hail of blaster fire threatened to pierce her driver's head. Sierra shot out her weapon to deflect, but in her urgency, she miscalculated the distance and the blaster bolt grazed her hand. Pain forced her to drop her weapon, and in the commotion, it flew out of the speeder, plunging over the side, out of her reach.

Sierra cursed beneath her breath. There was only one thing she needed to focus on now. Everything else could come later. She would stop Darth Siphon. She would seize the Holocron. Nothing else mattered. Only her duty.


	33. Interlopers - Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

* * *

 _Six Months Ago_

Astraad followed the slavegirl down several winding corridors, deep underground. In the darkness, it was only their lightsabers that showed them their paths; crimson light colored the earthen walls and stone floors with an insidious intent. Astraad thought it an appropriate sensation, given what they would soon approach.

He could feel Darth Orthas' eyes upon them both. They walked in a single file procession, not because the hallways were not wide enough, but because Orthas demanded it. For all his might, the Darth was still a cautious and calculating man. Astraad could smell the uncertainty wafting off of him, could taste his hesitation in the air.

The girl was different. He expected fear from her, expected panic and self-preservation. Instead, there was calm.

"This way," the slave said, leading another turn. Their path spiraled down a column before they reached a set of massive stone slabs, stretching at least ten meters high. They occupied the entirety of the width of the corridor, barring their passage. Sinister carvings decorated these twin gates; Astraad recognized some of the symbolism and hieroglyphs, but much of it was beyond even his recollection. That was rare.

There was no visible mechanism that Astraad could see to get the stone slabs to move. Instead, the girl walked up to the doors. Slowly, she traced a carving of an upright arrow piercing a single circle. Then, she pressed her hand inwards; the carving retreated into the stone and then suddenly both doors trembled as they parted into the walls, allowing them all free passage.

Astraad watched as Darth Orthas arched an eyebrow at the girl.

"Darth Miro is … was … a historian. He collected much knowledge in his time … most of it outdated, but he did manage to put some old rites to use."

The girl beckoned them within. "The Holocrons are just inside."

Orthas waited for Astraad to follow the girl before once again taking up the rear.

What lay within was truly a remarkable sight. Orthas waived his position, striding forward to better take in a view of the chamber. Astraad lifted his still-active blade to better light the area. Countless holocrons, artifacts, and relics lined the walls, shelved themselves in massive stone structures, or simply found themselves spread upon the ground for perusal. Astraad caught sight of the Insidious Focus - which though lacking in measurable power, still held significant cultural value - a relic long thought to be lost to the ages. He quietly slipped it into his robes.

He approached a pedestal, upon which the Dictates of Cryshak the Repentant rested. The ancient scrolls told the story of a pureblood who started a miniscule following of sith, faithful to the light. Another token of ages past, housed within Miro's secret repository.

Just how much knowledge had the gnarled old fool collected over the years?

"Where are the Holocrons?" asked Orthas. Astraad followed his gaze back to the slave.

The girl ducked behind several shelves. "Here. Right here."

They followed. The slave's finger pointed to a small boulder. No handle. No carvings.

"More ancient sorcery?" asked Astraad. "Or are you simply pointing at a rock?"

"They're in here," insisted the girl. "Let me just -"

Darth Orthas strode forward. The girl saw his intent and had the sense to leap backwards. With fury in his eyes - or was it fear? - Orthas lifted his blade over his head and then swiped downwards to cleave the stone receptacle in two.

"Master, wait! The Holocrons!"

Astraad's warning fell on deaf ears. But it turned out the warning itself was not needed. Orthas' blades sliced through the stone, then stopped mid-swing, unable to complete its intended course.

"Darth Miro didn't lie," said the girl. "You can't destroy the Holocrons so easily."

Orthas glared at the girl, then flourished his blade. The stone container shattered, leaving behind six Holocrons floating in the air by Orthas' will. Six cubes, sparkling even just under the light of Orthas' weapon.

They were glorious.

"I will find a way to destroy these things," said Orthas. "Even if I have to tear them apart molecule by molecule."

Astraad smiled. "It will be as you say, my lord."

It seemed it was time for a new master.

* * *

 _Present Day_

Lethe's eyes flew open. She could not breathe. She could not breathe! Her gasps sucked in air, but could only circulate it in her mouth. Something had clamped itself around her neck, her windpipe, her throat.

The Force.

Astraad smiled as he hovered over her, holding his one remaining palm up in the air, fingers curling inward to form a fist. "So. You still have some fight left in you."

What was he doing?!

"I'd like to say this wasn't personal, _my lord,_ but given how much trouble you've caused me over the last few months, I'm afraid that would simply be a lie."

She felt so weak. So powerless. Where was the Holocron? Why did it not answer her call?

Siphon. The real one. She had taken it. She had stolen it.

"How does it feel, Lethe?! That is your name, isn't it? I don't know how you usurped Siphon's identity, but I do know that without the Holocron of Ancient Sorcery, you are not my superior. You are not even my equal! How does it feel to be at _my_ mercy? To know that your life is in the palm of my hands?!"

Lethe screamed, surging the Force out through her voice, forcing Astraad back and severing his hold over her. Other than that, her flailing barely phased him; he stumbled back two paces before righting himself and placing a hand on the hilt of his lightsaber.

"So … you want to do this the hard way."

Lethe pushed herself off the bio-bed, holding it both to steady herself and as a defensive structure to keep her assailant at bay. She surveyed her surroundings - the medical ward. What remained of her medical staff now lay strewn about the room, dead or dying, lightsaber wounds scrawled across their bodies plain to see, their faces frozen in frightened disbelief.

"Thresh!" Lethe screamed into her comlink. "I need security in the medical ward!"

Astraad giggled. "I wouldn't bother, if I were you. Thresh … your soldiers ... the rest of your pathetic powerbase … well, what kind of help can you expect from corpses?"

Dead? All of them?

Her powerbase … gone?!

"Why?" asked Lethe. "Why are you doing this?"

"That's simple. _I don't need you anymore._ But I do need to pay you back for the indignities I've been forced to swallow while you were still deemed necessary." He lifted the stump of his shattered cybernetic arm for her to see.

She didn't understand, but slow realization formed small epiphanies as she pieced supposition and guesswork together. "You … you knew all along. You knew that I wasn't Siphon. Why did you support my claim to the spoils of the Kaggath? Why did you side with me against _her_ if you knew?"

The answer came to her even as he breathed it to life. "Do you even need to ask? The Holocron. That is and always has been my singular goal."

"The Holocron." Lethe started to laugh, but her mirth resonated only with sorrow. "Everyone wants the Holocron."

Astraad smirked. "If only that were true, I would not have had to put up with your ridiculous games and feeble politicking. If only Orthas had not wished to destroy the base pieces. If only Miro hadn't infected his mind with cautionary visions. I might still have my arm … and the Dark Council would have the Holocron."

"Is that who you serve, then?" asked Lethe, voice rising with fury. "The Dark Council? I always suspected it. What was it you said before … that you only wanted to provide them a token offering? Feigning your fealty to me, your ignorance of the Holocron's power …! How far back does this plot of yours extend, Astraad?!"

The pureblood chuckled. "Have you never wondered why it was so easy for you to unite the six pyramids? To unlock the Holocron's true power when the greatest Sith of the past century failed to do so?"

A memory sparked in her mind. What was it Thresh had said when he first described the individual pieces of the Holocron to her?

" _Those ancient Sith cubes ..."_

But Lethe had never seen the pieces as cubes. Only as pyramids. Why would Thresh have called them cubes? She had assumed he was mistaken, had inferred that because the agent was not Sith, that he could not have hoped to know the slightest thing about the relic. What if he hadn't been wrong? What if the individual pieces had been cubes … until someone unveiled their true nature?

A chill surged down her spine. "Y-you … you unlocked its power for me."

"I merely cast aside the deceptions of which only me and mine were aware. And it was never for you. Not for Lethe, not even for Siphon. The Holocron and its separate parts were always meant for the Dark Council. I betrayed Orthas, bargained with Siphon to ensure that he could not destroy the Holocron … that its base fragments would arrive to the Council, primed for them to uncover."

"But you interfered. You assumed Siphon's identity at a critical juncture and threw my plans into disarray. I sacrificed my arm to salvage what I could … and still, you interfered! You pilfered my offering just as it was about to be dispatched to Kaas City, and then had the audacity to decipher the Holocron's secrets for yourself!"

Lethe's eyes darted the room, searching for something that could grant her the advantage. She needed to distract him, to keep him talking. " … if Sierra had not mentioned the Holocron to me, I might not have even remembered it existed."

Astraad burst out with wondrous realization. "It was the _girl._ Of course it was the girl! She was the start! How long had she been on its trail before you came along? Miro to Orthas. Orthas to Siphon … what was it that Lord Rime found her doing? Snooping around the Citadel's vault? She was searching for the Holocron! She killed him for his discovery!"

It was true then. Sierra was after the Holocron as well. In her heart of hearts, Lethe had always suspected, but having it confirmed for her ... still struck a blow.

She laughed, cold and alone. "Were there any among my council that did not turn out to be traitors? Hadrax, Cyriak, Sierra … you. Was Ravain a traitor as well? Is Thresh?"

Astraad smiled, cruel and vindictive. "What did you expect, impostor? A council of traitors for a usurper. A false empire for a false empress. It seems fitting, don't you think?"

She had to put aside the rage. The anger. It wasn't time for them yet. She needed to keep him talking, to keep him distracted. "Why did you side with me when the real Siphon laid siege? Why not join with her and restore your original agreement?"

"Her bargain with me was simple: help her slay Orthas, and she would let me have free reign with the Holocron. But by the time she attacked, Orthas was already dead and the Holocron had bound itself to you! With your display of power, I could not be guaranteed that Siphon would not begin to covet it for herself. That she would not renege on our arrangement. What choice did I have then, but to remain at your side? Patiently waiting, watching, searching for the right moment to strike."

"So that you could deliver the Holocron to the Dark Council, their dutiful lackey. Is it anyone in particular that you serve? Nox? Acina? Do you really think they have what it takes to control the Holocron?!"

Astraad paused, staring into her mask's vacant eyes. "I am no one's lackey."

"You are!" hissed Lethe. "And a fool at that. Siphon's the one with the Holocron now! Do you really think she will deliver it to the Dark Council? She won't relinquish a relic as powerful as the Ancient Sorcery for anything short of the Empire's throne!"

"Siphon is another interloper now. But her actions spur this story to its conclusion nonetheless."

"What are you talking about?"

"Even now, Sierra chases after her, her allies en route."

"You just told me that Sierra's been after the Holocron this whole time," said Lethe. "Why would she give it back to you or the Council?"

"Oh, she definitely won't," said Astraad with a smile. "After all … she is Jedi."

 _… what?_

Astraad lunged forward, lightsaber singing in reverb as it thrust forward. Lethe reacted by instinct - her mind still trying to process what Astraad had just told her - and she used the Force enhance her strength and hurl the biobed at her attacker. Astraad redirected his attack to swing downwards, severing the massive projectile in two and redirecting its momentum downward. It crashed to the floor in an ear-piercing clamor.

Lethe shot out her hand in the drection of Astraad's face and summoned the Force. She would incapacitate him through a psychic assault upon his mind … but the only fruit her attack bore was Astraad's contemptuous smile.

"What … what have you done to me?" asked Lethe.

Astraad advanced, smirking. Lethe retreated, circling around the room, desperate to find something that she could use against him.

"I haven't done anything to you," said the pureblood. "You've relied on the Holocron for too much. It has served as your bridge to the Force for so long, you've forgotten what it is to command power without it. Now that it's no longer in your possession -"

Lethe hissed. "I can still defeat you!"

She tried again, jutting out her hand in desperate, impotent gestures. Astraad's chittering evolved into full-fledged mocking laughter.

"The only thing you've ever succeeded in defeating is yourself. The real Siphon could've kept the powerbase under control. But you … you watched Hadrax and Cyriak defect with half your followers. You spared me even though you suspected my involvement in plots against you."

Astraad's voice turned soft, but the weight of his next words felt like a giant's footsteps upon her chest. " … and you nurtured a Jedi spy within your ranks. Promoted her. Raised her high."

"You're lying!" Lethe screamed.

The pureblood rolled his eyes. " … I actually considered giving you the opportunity to confront her. I'm tracking her as we speak; she probably hasn't made it too far. It would be entertaining to witness her dangle you along a little bit longer … but ultimately, I think taking my vengeance here and now will prove the more satisfying choice."

She could barely process his words. "I … I would've known. I peered into her mind. I would've seen!"

"You saw only what she wanted you to see!" Astraad declared, advancing a few more steps. "The only greater joke than your elevation of that Jedi dog in this farcical tale is _you._ That you thought you could pose as a Darth. It would be amusing, if it wasn't so pathetic."

Rage overwhelmed Lethe and she lunged forward, screaming. She had no weapon. The Force abandoned her. But she could not let Astraad's recitation of her failures - his utter contempt and patronization of her - go undisputed. She would tear out his tongue with her fingers if she had to. She would claw out his eyes and rip his remaining arm from its shoulder with just her bare hands.

Astraad smiled. He thrust his only hand downward and the Force smacked Lethe to the ground.

"How does it feel, Lethe? How does it feel to be on your knees, once more in your rightful place?!"

She was exhausted. So tired, more tired than she had ever felt in her entire life. Lethe looked up to Astraad. In his eyes, she saw her ultimate defeat.

In that moment, Lethe wanted it to be over.

She had failed, utterly and completely. Siphon's powerbase had been annihilated under her command. The Holocron, lost to her former master, its secrets and its power likely forever beyond her grasp. Sierra, her apprentice, revealed to be a Jedi spy. The girl's total betrayal cut at her the most; Lethe had cared for Sierra. She had saved her from Rime, had elevated her, had lost Hadrax and Cyriak for her. All for a Jedi, whose sweet words belied their intent. Sierra would never truly help restore the Empire to the way of unity. Not if it also meant restoring the Empire to strength.

And that was her greatest failure: in her pursuit of its fruition, she had only brought ruin to the promise she made to Retra: the promise she made to seek a better way. How many lives had she taken for the Holocron? How many innocents? How many repentants? Her hands were covered in their blood … and they could never be washed clean. The Holocron dimmed her remorse while it remained at her side, but now … now, she felt it all.

 _I am ready. Let it be over._

Astraad lifted his lightsaber up high over his head. There was no smile upon his face, no hint of victorious euphoria. His nose betrayed the only emotion he felt; it curled upwards, sneering at her with disdain. With scorn.

It was what she deserved.

Just as he was about to bring down his weapon, Astraad's chest suddenly shuddered twice, as if it had been struck … by what?

The pureblood turned around slowly; Lethe followed his gaze. Behind him, a staggering Shiro Thresh stood at the doorway to the medical center, blaster smoking in hand, chest sporting a hole where his heart should have been.

"I-impossible …" breathed Astraad, before he collapsed to the ground, unmoving.

"Situs ... inversus," said Thresh, clutching at his chest, struggling to breathe as he sank to the floor himself. " … you # !$# ! traitor."

It took only another few moments for the old agent to still as well.

Lethe struggled to her feet, shambled first towards Thresh. Gently, she slid the lids down over his vacant eyes.

She limped back towards Astraad, collapsing beside his fallen body. Her hands dug through his clothing, fumbling in their search for his tracking device. As her hands closed around it, she knew. It was not her time yet. There would have to be time for one more reckoning.


	34. Interlopers - Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

* * *

 _Outside New Adasta_

As their speeder thrust into New Adasta's outskirts, Hallie breathed in frozen air with a gasp. Ziost's icy wilderness dominated her vision, painting alternating shades of blue and orange as the sun above them began to set behind the horizon. Snow blanketed the landscape as durasteel buildings gave way to stone tors and jagged ice formations.

They made it past the city's security patrols, unmolested save for their single pursuer. The impostor's apprentice was fast gaining on them though; the Desler's thrusters flared like hungry eyes, waiting to strike. Hallie's speeder couldn't hope to match; her foot had long since floored the accelerator, and worse, they were running out of fuel.

At this rate, Lethe's apprentice would be within arm's reach in mere minutes.

"They're almost on us!" Tosin shouted.

"Bring us down!" Siphon replied. "Get ready to get out!"

Get out? What was that madwoman thinking?

"Why?" Hallie asked.

"Just do it!"

Hallie glared at Siphon, but complied, pushing their roundabout to dive downward. The Desler behind them followed closely, its speed and acceleration more than a match for their own. Through the rear mirror, Hallie could see the young woman chasing them, her hair billowing behind her wildly as her vehicle matched their descent.

A meter off the ground and Hallie leveled them off. Siphon wasted no time; she spun around in her seat and fired a bolt of lightning. It missed by a hair's breadth as the apprentice seized the wheel and pulled the Desler upwards to avoid the blast. Another surge missed its mark in similar fashion as Eris swerved the vehicle once more to the side.

"Enough of this!"

Siphon shot out both arms and sent a massive shockwave of pure Force at their stalker. Eris could not avoid this attack. The blast slammed into her vehicle, disabling the repulsors. The Desler careened wildly as it spun end to end and crashed into the snow below. White frost sprayed upwards from the impact site, but there was no explosion.

"You did it," breathed Tosin. "We're clear."

"Go and make sure the apprentice is dead." Siphon didn't wait for him to respond; instead, she summoned the Force to fling Tosin out of their still-moving speeder. Hallie stared after him in shock as Tosin's surprised yelp echoed after them.

"Why did you do that?!" Hallie screamed.

"I'm not taking any chances. He can deal with Eris. We're dealing with _that."_

Siphon pointed up high. Hallie's eyes darted to follow, widening as they realized what now hovered above them: a massive shuttle matching their course and speed, armed to the teeth.

* * *

As Tosin hurled through the air, he summoned the Force to right himself, twisting into a full-body spin. His feet landed on a frozen patch of water and he started to slide backwards; he had to slam his palm down onto the ice in order to sap his own momentum. The frost burned as the cold tore at his skin.

One day, he would kill Siphon.

A short distance away, he saw a woman's figure exit the downed speeder. Lethe's apprentice was tenacious, he would give her that. He bounded forward, whipping out his yellow lightsaber.

The girl was ready. She had lost her weapon in the chase, but she was not defenseless. A blast of Force hurtled his way. Tosin spun to the side to avoid it, only to be forced into contortionist acrobatics as Eris flung turbulent blasts at him, one after the other. The last one, he couldn't avoid - he countered with a Force wave of his own; the resulting collision of their powers knocked them both to the ground.

"I have no quarrel with you!" Eris shouted as she got back to her feet. "Get out of my way!"

Tosin scrambled to do the same. "I'm sorry. I can't let you take the Holocron back."

"Can you guarantee you and your master won't come back for Lethe?"

Tosin frowned. Eris knew Lethe was the impostor. Why did she still serve her? "I can guarantee I won't," he said. "I cannot speak for Siphon."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Eris wrenched her hands in his direction. Chunks of ice tore themselves from the ground and launched themselves at Tosin; he smashed a few with his lightsaber, but there were too many for him to destroy them all. He dived to the side, throwing his still-active blade towards the girl; the weapon reverberated as it spun end-to-end, screaming its deadly intent.

The girl launched into the air and caught the weapon by its handle.

Tosin had never seen anyone do that before.

"Give it up," said Eris. "My masters have already cornered Siphon. She's going down as we speak."

Could it be true?

He glanced back; a shuttle decked out in heavy artillery hovered in the air just above Hallie's speeder. Eris hadn't lied. But who was inside?

Tosin cursed under his breath as Eris advanced on him. By instinct, his hands shot out and hurled a flurry of Force Lightning at Lethe's apprentice. For once, the electricity came as summoned, surging forward to wrap its tendrils around his target. Eris swung Tosin's own weapon forward to catch the torrent, hands shaking as she struggled to keep hold of the lightsaber under the tremendous weight of his attack.

Behind him, a gigantic explosion rocked his ears.

Tosin whirled around, dropping his invocation and immediately racing towards the billowing smoke that now rose into a rapidly darkening sky.

"Hallie!"

* * *

Hallie watched as Siphon leaped out of the speeder without bothering to say a word. Her eyes darted upwards; she watched as the shuttlecraft's blaster cannons trained upon their vehicle, heard the particle beams charge from above. Her legs scrambled faster than she ever thought possible.

The explosion threw her across an icy plateau and knocked her unconscious.

When she came to, Tosin was by her side, whispering, "You're alright. You're going to be alright."

"What - where's Siphon?"

Tosin lifted a finger to his mouth, then pointed around the large boulder he had dragged her behind. Hallie understood why as she peeked around the corner, eyes still struggling to focus. In the distance, she watched as a dozen men and women wearing brown robes and heavy armor exited the shuttle that had just destroyed their speeder.

Jedi? What were Jedi doing here?

Hallie glanced to Tosin, but he looked just as confused.

Siphon stood alone, one hand holding the Holocron, the other her crimson lightsaber. She was flanked by Eris, whose yellow lightsaber looked remarkably like Tosin's as it pointed at Siphon's back. Siphon made no attempt to flee. Instead, she smiled.

Did she actually think she could win against all those Jedi? And why was Eris helping them?

The Jedi formed a circle around Siphon, lightsabers drawn in various shades of green and blue. A woman stepped forward, hooded, but Sierra could see battlescars line her face. The leader. "No blood needs to be spilled today, Sith. Release the Holocron, set down your weapon, and we can all go our separate ways."

Siphon laughed. There was no hint of fear, not even apprehension. "My, my. Isn't this a twist? Has my worthless apprentice resorted to asking Jedi for help?"

"Whatever internal disputes you may have with your apprentice, they are not our affair. All we seek is the relic."

"Do you even know what this Holocron is?" asked Siphon. "Do you even know the power it possesses?"

"Do you?" asked the Jedi leader.

One of the other Jedi turned to the leader. "Why do we not attack? She is Sith! Let us strike now and seize the Holocron by force."

The woman lifted her hand to silence her cohort. "Our mission is not war, Delmont." She turned back to Siphon. "Sith! I offer you one last chance. Release the Holocron and save your life."

"Be careful, master!" shouted Eris. "The Holocron's strength is beyond anything I've seen before."

 _… Eris was Jedi._

"Listen to your whelp!" said Siphon. "With the Holocron in hand, I am more than a match for a hundred of you!"

Hallie looked once more to Tosin. " … is that true?"

Tosin shook his head. "I don't know."

"If it is … we'll never get Andora's location out of her, will we?"

Tosin looked defeated, but he could not look away from the confrontation. Hallie turned back as well, more to hide the despair in her face than out of curiosity of the battle's outcome.

Several of the Jedi moved into aggressive saber stances. Still, the Jedi leader commanded them to hold.

"Show us then. Prove it."

Siphon's laughter turned maniacal. "Fools! Imbeciles! Strike me down while you have the chance, but do not say I did not warn you!"

The Darth lifted her hands into the air, conjuring the Force, surging it into the Holocron, lifting it into the air. Her voice spoke words of power, magnified by darkness. "Holocron! I beseech you! Grant unto me your ancient power, boundless ambition! Show these fools who defy you, the meaning of submission!"

Nothing happened.

Tosin looked to Hallie with just as much bewilderment as was on her own face. Hallie turned back to Siphon. For the first time that night, she thought she saw fear.

"Holocron! I am your new vessel! I am your new master! Obey me! Grant me your knowledge, your secrets, your power! I need it! I demand it!"

Still, the Holocron did nothing but spin in place.

The Jedi Leader threw out her arm in command. "Take her!"

It was over in a second. Half a dozen Jedi masters descended upon Siphon; the Darth didn't even put up a fight. Even as they disarmed her, even as they bound her arms and legs, still, she screamed for the Holocron's obedience; the panic and frustration in her voice rose a decibel with each moment it refused to comply. Even as they gagged her, she stared at the Holocron, eyes glaring in judgment, as though they could accuse the relic of rebellion. Even as they retrieved the Holocron from mid-air, even as they sealed it away within a secured repository, still Siphon lunged at it, throwing her whole trussed-up body after the relic, like a worm, desperate for salvation.

* * *

 _Siphon's Citadel_

Astraad stumbled out of the turbolift.

Bodies littered the Citadel. The treacherous apprentices he had killed. The soldiers. The medical and security staff.

It had been easy. Lethe had gutted what remained of the powerbase to empower the Holocron. Wiping out the remnants was simply a nuisance. A chore.

As Astraad limped down the detention level's hallway, he coughed up blood into his hand.

Apparently, he hadn't done a thorough enough job.

Thresh had survived being stabbed through the chest. Situs inversus - the man had a rare genetic condition that flipped the location of his internal organs. When Astraad thought he had pierced the man's heart, he might only have punctured a single lung. Sure, the man had still died … but Astraad's mistake had left Thresh with just enough strength to take his revenge.

Astraad smiled to himself. He shouldn't have gotten greedy. Killing Lethe and ruining her powerbase was not part of the plan. He could've easily left them alone, moved on to the next stage. But after six months of bootlicking, six months of feigning submission to a lesser Sith, six months of watching Lethe fumble and err … he could not resist. It wasn't some passing fixation or idle fantasy. He needed to destroy her, utterly and completely. He needed her to know why.

The look on Lethe's face when she finally realized what Astraad had done, that look … it was almost worth the price he now paid.

He reached the holding cells, blood pouring out of his mouth in steady waves now. He didn't bother to wipe it; he only had one thing left to do.

There weren't even guards posted here anymore. That's how short-staffed the Citadel had become under Lethe's woefully inadequate hand. It was a shame, really. Orthas had led an efficient and deadly powerbase. If Astraad hadn't already a greater master, he might have been content to throw his lot in with the traditionalist, prejudices notwithstanding. That the Citadel had sunk so low spoke volumes about Lethe's ineptitude.

He approached the cell containing Beral. The woman was still bound head to toe, strapped to an interrogation table, though her mouth had been freed of its gag. She smiled, aggravating in its glee, infuriating in its contempt.

How he hated that smile.

"You don't look well at all, old friend."

Astraad ignored her. He accessed the security console and disabled all forcefields and technological security measures.

The internal bleeding was getting worse. Thresh's shots had hit home. Astraad cursed the man's aim under his breath. Who knew the doddering old fool would still have some fire in him after all this time?

"Any day now, Astraad."

He limped over to Beral's interrogation table. Slowly, he undid the leather belts that bound her to the rack she had endured for countless days now. First the hands, then the waist, then the feet.

"About time."

By the time he finished, almost all his strength had left him. He collapsed against the nearest wall, breath labored, vision fading. Beral pushed herself off the table, finally free. She spent a minute stretching, massaging out the crick in her neck, her shoulders, her limbs. Astraad watched as she smoothed out her robes, lifting her arms to smell her own pits; her nose wrinkled in disgust.

"You really don't know how to treat your guests," Beral remarked casually as she sauntered over to Astraad's position, kneeling down so they could stare each other in the eye. "So? Status update?"

He swallowed, trying to wet his tongue and clear his throat of blood; the action sent him into a coughing fit that took from him several moments to recover.

"The real Siphon has the Holocron," he said, wheezing as his vision continued to darken. "The Jedi girl is in pursuit. Her masters are on their way to rendezvous."

"You're sure of their prowess?"

He shrugged. He did not know.

Beral frowned. "Hmph. And the impostor?"

Astraad shook his head. He didn't know, though he assumed she was chasing the Holocron still as well. He had failed to kill her after all, and when he woke, she was gone, along with his remaining tracker.

"What did I tell you? We can salvage your mess after all." Beral clapped her hands together with eager excitement before turning back to him. "Do you have something for me, Astraad? Don't you hold out on me now."

Astraad lifted his only remaining hand, used one finger to beckon Beral close.

Beral leaned in.

Astraad spat on her face. A globule of blood-stained saliva dribbled down her cheek to her chin, pooling there for a moment before plummeting down to the ground. "Meddler." The accusation left his mouth a rasping hiss. It was all he could muster. It would have to do.

Beral stared at him, unphased. She held out an open palm, waiting to receive her gift, not bothering to wipe the trace of drool that still lingered upon her cheek.

He obliged her, pulling out a small, spherical token from his robes and pressing it into her palm. Everything was in her hands now. Just as she wanted. It was supposed to be his task, but she had never believed he would succeed. She just had to involve herself, had to steal his glory.

How he hated her.

"Thank you, my friend. Our brothers and sisters will know of your sacrifice." She pushed her lips onto his forehead in false affection. He wanted to throttle her, to scream at her, wrap his hands around her throat. It was futile. The last bits of his strength faded. Everything was getting so dark … so numb.

Beral removed herself from Astraad's body, dusting herself off and standing back up. He looked up at her, praying she would leave before he died. He didn't want the last thing he saw to be her mocking sneer.

"Take solace, Astraad. You didn't ruin anything, after all."


	35. Interlude 07

**Interlude**

* * *

 _Pallas' Estate, New Adasta_

"Adasta Daily News continues to receive reports of strange and mysterious rebellions, defections, and sedition across the planet. Military and political analysts now widely believe that the sheer volume of revolutionary activity exceeds the ability of the Ziost Liberation Front to coordinate. Investigations continue, but -"

Lord Pallas shut off his viewscreen and kicked his feet up onto his desk. Loosing a relaxed breath, he folded his arms behind his head and leaned back in his lounge chair. What did he care for this latest news? Soon he would return to Dromund Kaas and be far, far removed from this pisshole of a planet. These latest reports only succeeded in killing his buzz, and he deserved his euphoria, after all he had endured.

Things had gone swimmingly for him since Lord Beral had been captured and detained at Siphon's Citadel; it had been many months since he last felt so in control. Once, he had only been a step away from the Dark Council. But when Darth Vowrawn abandoned his disciples to escape the Hands, all of his lieutenants - Pallas included - had been disgraced in the eyes of the Empire. _His master was a traitor,_ they all said. He had been forced to watch as all his work crumbled to ash in his hands. The relationships he had built. The alliances he had forged. They all evaporated as soon as news of Vowrawn's disappearance filtered its way through the grapevine.

Starved of influence and practically destitute, Pallas had no choice but to prostrate himself before more powerful Sith. Sith like Beral.

How he hated her. The pureblood woman delighted in his misery, taunted him at every chance. She tantalized him with promises that always wound up conveniently forgotten. She openly worked against his efforts to rebuild his name and kept him in the dark on almost every project for which she engaged him.

Aiding Beral kept him afloat, but only just. For a man who had the ear of a Dark Councillor, to sink so low as this was nearly insufferable.

And then Beral had gotten herself imprisoned.

For these last blissful weeks, he felt once more that the world filled with possibility. That the Empire - or at least a seat of significance within it - was within his grasp. Hidden from Beral's watchful eye, Pallas had been free to restore much of his lost prestige. He had repaired his relationship with Darth Nox. His overtures to Marr's lieutenants had been well-received. And he had bought several well-positioned contacts within Sith Intelligence to keep him apprised of all the latest developments.

No more did he need to kowtow to that witch. No more could she emasculate him on a daily basis. No more.

His holocom sounded out from an unfamiliar frequency. He answered it.

His heart sank into his stomach.

"Prepare for my arrival, Pallas. My shuttle will be at your estate in a few minutes."

Pallas struggled for words. "My lord Beral! You … you escaped?"

"Of course, my friend. You didn't think I would allow myself to be jailed forever, did you? Beral, out."

No. No, no … no. _No._

Pallas couldn't suffer that woman for a single minute more, much less allow her to return to dominating his life. Not after everything. Not now.

Cold understanding seeped its way into his mind. He would have to take matters into his own hands. He would have to kill her.

The problem: Pallas knew how powerful Beral was. He had seen it firsthand. He had experienced it. He was no fool. He knew that facing her in battle would likely only result in his death.

But battle was not the only way to eliminate an enemy.

He activated his comlink and directed it to the head of his kitchen staff. "Azley. Lord Beral is returning to the estate. I would like to prepare a banquet in her honor."

"A-are you sure, my lord?" asked the chef. "Lord Beral did not seem overly fond of my cuisine the last time she visited."

Pallas smiled to himself. "It will be different this time. In fact, I'm sure it will be a meal to die for."

* * *

The shuttle Beral had stolen from the Citadel landed with a groan and screech upon the shuttlepad connected to Lord Pallas' estate. As the exit hatch doors released, she watched as a ghost-faced Pallas rushed forward to receive her.

"My lord? Are you alright? How did you escape?"

Pallas' barrage of questions went unanswered. She waved away the attendants he had brought with him and strode out of the shuttle. As she walked, she glanced down to her hand to inspect the token Astraad had given her. It rested in her palm, unmoving, unremarkable.

"Take me somewhere private, Pallas," she ordered. "We need to talk. And get me something to eat."

She ignored the look of confusion on Pallas' face and marched forwards toward the meager-looking hovel that her companion called home. It took a few moments for Pallas to catch up to her, panting only slightly as he struggled to match her stride.

"Of course, my lord. My private chambers then. This way. We can get you cleaned up and off the pla - by the stars, you look horrible."

Beral offered Pallas a contemptuous arched brow. The effort was rewarded by a stammering apology. "F-forgive me, my lord. My tongue is too quick for my mind it seems."

She remained silent to allow Pallas to stew in regretful discomfort, though for the first time in a long time, she sensed something more in the air between them than cowardice and subservience. There was a hint of anger, a dash of rage that she had not felt since they first met. Pallas was bold back then, still proud even in the face of his master's humiliation. Beral had worked very hard to squash any remnant of that ego from his identity. She wondered what could have spawned its rebirth.

They reached Pallas' quarters without exchanging another word, Pallas rushing first to his personal minibar to pour them both a drink. As Beral stepped through the doorway, she immediately began removing her dirty and sweat-soaked robes, stripping down to her undergarments.

"My lord, what are you - ?! L-let me send for some clean -"

Beral ignored his sputtering. "Send for something to eat. I'm starving."

Pallas could not help but let his eyes linger over her form. Beral was not surprised. Muscle and sinew did not always hide the flesh and curves that men so often found pleasing. For her part, she did not mind the attention. A naked body served many uses: distraction. Leverage. Manipulation. How she would use it here would be to her discretion.

It took Pallas a few moments to recover. "I … as you wish. I've already instructed my personal chef to prepare a welcoming banquet for you. Is there anything in particular you … you're craving?"

"Surprise me, Pallas. Quickly. I'm losing my patience." She was careful to insert just the right amount of annoyance in her words to spur Pallas into action.

"As you say." Pallas activated his comlink and mumbled into it. Beral noted the surreptitious glances he threw her way. The difference in the man's behavior grew more stark with every passing moment. He seemed possessed with a confidence, an anger, that Beral did not have the patience to indulge. Even his mewling carried a hint of defiance.

It seemed that in her absence, Pallas had grown resentful. That would have to be rectified.

Leaving him to his tasks, Beral stepped into Pallas' lavatory. Setting her token down onto the sink, she began to wash herself, running fresh, crisp, clean water over her aching muscles and bruised skin. She cupped water in her hands and ran it quickly through the stubble atop her head, wiping away weeks of sweat and oil and dirt. She wouldn't have bothered washing, but decorum demanded a degree of cleanliness. After all, the final stage was about to begin. It would not do to greet her master while still covered in filth.

As her hands brushed the skin atop her forehead, she winced. Her time at the Citadel had earned her several new battle scars - burnt flesh that would never truly recover. She would have to remember to style her hair - once it grew out - so that the disfigurement remained visible. No sense having trophies if not to display them with pride.

She glanced at the small orb once more. Still, it remained silent. Still, it remained unmoving.

After preening herself for another fifteen minutes, she swiftly toweled off. She tucked the orb into her bra and stepped back into Pallas' personal chambers, still wearing only her undergarments. The savory scent of a lightly seared meat wafted into the room; Pallas carried a large platter with a single hand while two attendants set up a small dining table and two chairs. Beral sat down into one of them, crossed her legs, and smiled.

This was more like it.

"I've asked Azley to prepare a meal I trust will be to your liking," said Pallas. He set the platter down on a serving table and revealed two mouth-watering steaks. As the slaves dressed their dining table with a clean cloth and utensils, Pallas described what they were about to experience: "The finest cut of meat, cooked rare, garnished with some local herbs and accompanied by an exquisite mushroom sauce. I took the liberty of pairing it with a Corellian Red. I hope you don't mind, my lord."

She offered a wry smile. "Not at all, Pallas, my friend. This will do nicely. Although, I must admit I am surprised … I thought you said Ziost didn't carry much of a culinary bounty."

Pallas' attendants gently set the plates of steak down in front of them both. They had the good sense to give Beral the larger offering, the one that was still rare. Pallas' was overdone as usual. It had been too long since Beral dined on real food, textured and substantial. Siphon's forces had resorted to feeding her intravenously during her stay in the Citadel, fearful that she might free herself if they allowed her the use of her arms. She wanted to bite into something, to tear it apart with her teeth, to gnash and chew and to swallow: the simplest of life's pleasures, but one she now craved to satisfy.

"I wanted something special to represent …" Pallas paused for a second to choose his words, " … how happy I am that you've escaped Siphon's clutches."

Beral smiled. The man was a better liar than she gave him credit, but she had no doubt that the words he just spoke lacked any semblance of veracity.

The old sith dismissed his slaves and then poured two glasses of wine, offering one to her. "The steak I had imported from Kaas City. The wine we picked up while Corellia was still contested. Needless to say, it's far more rare now in Imperial space."

"How kind of you, Pallas."

"Shall we toast? To freedom?"

Beral watched as the man raised his glass to her and then took a healthy swallow of the alcohol. She reflected the gesture and then sampled the wine herself, letting it wash over her tongue. The palate was oaky and rich, a perfect complement to their meal.

Her fingers reached for the nearby fork and knife, almost by instinct, and she began cutting into the meat, savoring the feel of its resistance against the utensil as she cut a morsel free.

She had earned this.

Slowly, she brought the meat to her mouth. The anticipation was almost as good as the actual indulgence. She imagined its sensation against her teeth, its taste upon her tongue, the texture as it would feel sliding down her throat. How delectable it would feel.

Instead, she felt the token Astraad had given her begin to vibrate against her breast. And then, she felt Pallas' eyes upon her, watching her like a vulture waiting for hyenas to abandon a meal so that it could pick at the bones.

Beral set her fork down, the skewered piece of steak dripping sauce onto the tablecloth. Her knife remained in her other hand as she asked, "Aren't you going to eat, Pallas? A shame to let such a good meal go cold."

"Oh," the man fumbled. "Of course." He cut a few slices of overcooked steak and shoved them into his mouth, a little too-eagerly. With each mouthful, he would glance to her, would look straight into her eyes, watching, waiting with bated breath. But for what?

He never used to look her in the eyes before. Always, his would flit away at any chance meeting, a slave's gaze, common among Sith who could only ever aspire to mediocrity. The Sith that would content themselves in advisory and administrative positions.

The Sith that were cowards.

It seemed, no longer.

"Tell me. How long have we been working together?" asked Beral.

Pallas looked surprised. "Half a year, my lord. Is … is something wrong with the meal?"

"Not at all, my friend. But I'd like to discuss something before we eat."

Pallas rested his hands gingerly on the edges of the table, looking as though he might be ready to bolt. " … what is it, my lord?"

"You toasted to freedom. I thought we might discuss the terms to _your_ freedom."

His bewilderment appeared genuine. "My freedom? I'm afraid I'm not sure I understand."

Beral laughed lightly. "Come now, Pallas. You don't need to put airs for me. We both know full well why you turned to us. Your allegiance was offered out of necessity, rather than loyalty. When Vowrawn ran, what choice did he leave you?"

"Have you found my service lacking?" There was a hint of both anger and fear in that question. Beral wasn't quite sure which was the stronger.

"Quite the opposite," she said. "You have been instrumental in carrying out our plans. But I can understand the desire a Sith would have not to be forever trapped under another's thumb."

Pallas stared at her, still with that defiant eye, but now his defiance was joined by uncertainty.

"Do you not wish to be free of us?" asked Beral. "To return to your politicking? To once more have the ear of the Dark Council? To be your own man?"

His response was hesitant and slow, as though he did not trust that his words would not betray him. "I … I do."

"Good, my friend. This is how a Sith should be. Bold. Brash. To see something they desire, and seize it. To take opportunities wherever they may lie. You want your freedom? I am here to offer it to you."

Pallas set his utensils down. " … just like that? No conditions? No strings attached?"

Beral smiled, wide. "Now that you mention it … there is one last thing I need your help with."

"One last thing. What is it?"

She could see it in his eyes now. The prospect of being free. Pallas salivated after it almost as much as she did the meal before her: a tantalizing offer he could not refuse. The emotion splayed itself upon his face for Beral to read. The doubt in his mind was at this very second turning into desperate hope.

"This will be the most we have ever asked of you, but it is also the last. You must steel your resolve. You must seize the opportunity. You must be ready to sacrifice. Can you do that, Pallas?"

Pallas nodded, unable to hide his eagerness. "I can, Lord Beral. I will."

She stood up and leaned forward, beckoning him to do the same with a single finger. As their faces drew close, she whispered into his ear:

"That's good. That's very good. After all … _**a man can have anything, if he's willing to sacrifice."**_

Before Pallas could react, Beral swiped her knife across his throat. Before he could react, she summoned the Force, freezing him in place, paralyzing him in stasis. Before he could react, she set down her blade, finished the rest of her wine, and then placed the empty glass beneath his neck, a chalice waiting to be refilled.

The man's eyes bulged in shock, in disbelief, in terror. Words attempted to break his lips, but they came out a gargled and incomprehensible mess. Even dying, he struggled against her will, desperate to save himself. Beral wanted to laugh. How pitiful … his mewlings reminded her of the slaves that served the Empire. Pallas thought he was her servant, but he never realized he was not even that. Not even a slave.

He was cattle. He was livestock.

The glass filled quickly. She picked it back up and released her hold over the man. He collapsed face first onto her meal, dead, eyes frozen wide in despair.

"There," whispered Beral. _"Now, you are free."_

She waited a few moments and watched in amusement as the side of Pallas' face touching the steak he had prepared for her began to dissolve, as though being eaten away by acid.

"Poison, Pallas?" she asked the corpse as a flash of annoyance swept over her at the lost meal. "How shameful. Sith resorting to poison. As if you could lose any more of your face."

Her stomach growled its disapproval but she ignored it. She was too close. The final step. Everything she had done, all the ire she had earned from her brethren … it had all been for this one, singular moment.

Beral cleared a space in Pallas' chambers for her to work. In the center, she placed the token. She poured half of her bloody glass' precious liquid out, but did not let it touch the ground. Instead, she caught it with the Force, forming it into a fluid, crimson sphere. With it, she commanded the Force to paint the Empire's six-arrowed insignia upon the floor, letting it congeal. She dashed the rest of Pallas' blood across that symbol, desecrating it, before seating herself in the center.

There, Beral invoked the words she had waited to speak for so long:

 _Ancient is_ _ **his**_ _power;  
Boundless, __**his**_ _ambition.  
All who would defy __**him**_ _,  
Know only submission._

 _Satiate **his**_ _hunger;  
_ _Herald_ _ **his**_ _paradise.  
_ _All who would strive for_ _ **him**_ _,  
_ _Know only sacrifice._

The Force swirled around her, anchored by the orb in a violent vortex, hissing, screaming. And then, without warning, it fled from her side, out of Pallas' estate and into Ziost's wilderness.

Beral cackled after it, overwhelmed by her victory, stretching her arms high towards the heavens. She had done it! Against all odds, she had succeeded! She had proven herself the most loyal of her master's servants. She had made herself the harbinger of all things to come, her master's beacon! His herald!

There was no stopping him now.


	36. Interlopers - Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

* * *

 _3637 BBY, 16 ATC - Outside New Adasta_

Night fell. Ziost's twin moons once again hung themselves in the sky, illuminating the icy plain upon which Sierra and her Jedi Masters stood. It was quiet, save for Siphon's continued struggle to escape her bindings. The Jedi had already begun to return to their shuttle and make preparations to proceed to their next destination.

"Are you sure this is the Holocron you told us about before?"

Sierra turned to Jedi Master Delmont Delray and nodded. Delray was not her own master, but they had worked together for so many years now, it almost felt like he was a second instructor. They had served together on Corellia, Balmorra, Alderaan. He was a human man of about forty years, though many assumed he was older because his hair had turned a shocking white early in his life.

"I'm positive." She had examined it herself before the other Masters had delivered it into a secure containment unit; it was exactly the same relic that had been pried from Lethe's fingers: six pyramids uniting into a singular form.

"It doesn't seem all that powerful to me," Master Delray mused. "Perhaps it's defective."

"Siphon - the Sith - probably didn't have enough time to decipher the Holocron's secrets," said Sierra.

" … if you say so."

Sierra managed a small smile. There was much on her mind. So much didn't make sense … and something didn't feel right. She could feel it in the air, taste it on her tongue. That sensation that everything was about to go horribly wrong.

"Master. How did you know where to find me?"

"Your friend - that sith pureblood - he gave us the tracking frequency," said Delray. "He said you were in the midst of a chase and couldn't make contact, but would need our help."

Sierra frowned. She should be thanking Astraad now, but ...

"How did he know how to get in touch with you? I never gave him your com frequencies."

"He got them somehow. And good thing he did. Saved us a few hours … and your life, I suspect." Delray turned to glance at the other Jedi before returning his attention to Sierra.

"I hope you have everything you need. The other Masters will want to head to our new rendezvous location immediately."

Sierra had nothing but the clothes on her back and the lightsaber she had stolen from Lord Rend, but her lack of possessions was not what troubled her. Rend's absence, however, did. She had lost him in the scuffle after hearing the explosion and he hadn't reappeared since. She expected him to try and save Siphon, had assumed that he held more loyalty for the woman.

"Hey kid, you okay?" asked Delray. "You look about a million miles away."

Sierra rubbed her eyes and then feigned a smile. "Yeah. It's just been a long day."

"Uh huh. Take it easy, Sierra. You've done good work today."

He was right about that, at least. She had accomplished everything she had set out to do. Lethe was saved from a corrupting influence. The real Siphon had been stopped. And the Holocron - the relic that she had followed undercover for over six months - was finally in the Jedi's possession. Perhaps now, they would get the answers they sought, or even find a trace of the being they hunted.

… still, something felt wrong.

Sierra sighed. It was probably nothing. Lingering jitters and anxiety. There were more important things to worry about.

She wondered if she would have an opportunity to reach out to Astraad or Lethe. Gratitude and apologies were due, respectively. She still felt uncertain about Astraad, but the man had been right about one thing - she could not have beaten Siphon and Rend on her own. His puzzling insight aside, she still owed him her life. And Lethe …

Sierra was not sure if Lethe would be able to accept the truth, but she still felt she owed her false master an explanation at the least. They might not be able to be allies or friends, but they had both saved each other, in different ways perhaps … but Sierra truly did want to see Lethe - impostor though she might be - rise to prominence in the Empire.

She mulled the thought for a while before deciding that reaching out to Lethe might be pressing her luck.

Most of her brethren had already returned to their shuttle, but a few remained outside, hovering over a manic - but thankfully gagged - Siphon. Sierra approached, finding Masters Onok and Landai.

"Excellent," said Onok. "Sierra, you're familiar with this Sith, right? I'd have your opinion. What should we do with her?"

"Kill her," said Landai. "We've no use hauling a Sith around and we can't let her go free. The Empire -"

Sierra had enough of killing this day. "She could still be useful. The Holocron is still a mystery … she might be able to help us understand it."

"You mean despite that pathetic display just now?" smirked Landai.

"I think Sierra speaks reason," said Onok, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

Landai sighed. "Let her be your charge then. I wipe my hands of this."

"Certainly," Onok said with a smile. The twi'lek dragged Siphon by the scruff of her neck onto the shuttle, followed closely by Landai.

Sierra did the same. As they entered the shuttle and the landing bay closed, Sierra felt a hand on her shoulder, placed there in congratulations. "Well done, my padawan."

Sierra turned back and offered a smile and bow of her head. "Master Garault."

Garault looked like he had aged many years since the last time they had seen each other, though that couldn't have been more than a year ago. The human man wore a fresh new scar on his face and Sierra thought she saw a smattering more gray strands in the man's brown hair. Still, the sight of her master filled Sierra with a sense of reassurance and belonging that she hadn't experienced in quite some time.

"Your accent's starting to make me think we have two sith lords on board," Garault said with a small grin.

"Sorry," Sierra said. A few more attempts at vocalizing Republic Basic later and she still sounded like half her tongue had been born in the Empire. "It's hard to get rid of it once you start."

"I can imagine. But we can deal with that later. For now, we have the Holocron … enough to investigate whether it has any connection with the disturbances happening across the planet and -"

Landai issued a warning over the com system. "Prepare for takeoff."

Sierra watched as the Jedi Masters strapped themselves into their seats. She recognized most of them, though not all. Garault gave her a look that indicated their conversation would continue later. She sat herself into the nearest available seat and secured her own safety harness.

Their shuttle ascended, thrusters pushing them off Ziost's frozen plains. Higher and higher they climbed, penetrating the planet's stratosphere. From here, she could see New Adasta out the pilot's cockpit. It felt strange knowing that she was leaving the city behind - her home within the Empire for so many months. It had not been pleasant, by any means, but -

That's when she sensed it. A disturbance in the Force. Massive … overwhelming. Something rushed at them from all directions: a power that felt both familiar and yet strange in its unique terror. It chilled her to her core, sucked the breath from her lungs. It reminded her of the Holocron, and yet ...

Then it was gone.

"Did you feel that, Master?" Sierra asked, unable to suppress the alarm in her tenor.

Garault nodded, the slightest flicker of burgeoning concern spreading across his face. "I did." He raised his voice, calling out to their commander, "Master Surro, did you-"

Before Surro could respond, Delray screamed, clutching his head in agony.

"Delray! What's the matter?!" shouted Surro.

If the man heard the question, he gave no indication that he did. "Get out! Get out of my head!"

Surro unstrapped herself from the copilot's seat and rushed to Delray's side. "Onok! Help me with him!"

But Sierra could tell that Master Onok did not hear a single word. He stared at his hands, face enrapt in fear, heart consumed by horror.

"It's the Holocron!" Sierra shouted. "It's the Holocron!"

"We are JEDI! Remember the code!" Surro summoned the Force to bring Delray's mind to peace, but to no avail. "There is no emotion. There is peace!"

Siphon started to laugh, overcome by her mania, and yet suddenly her laughter cut short, like someone had turned off a recording. Her eyes went white, dull, and opaque.

"There is no ignorance. There is knowledge!"

Sierra watched as one by one, all the Jedi Masters aboard their shuttle succumbed to the Holocron's irresistible will.

"There is no passion. There is serenity!"

Master Garault screamed, hands clawing at his eyes, his nose, his mouth, desperate and flailing, pawing at the orifices on his face as though he could pluck out the intruder with his fingers.

Frantic, Sierra unbuckled herself from her seat and seized the Holocron's receptacle from the still-babbling Delray. Her lightsaber cut through the container before she even realized; the Holocron dropped to the floor of the shuttle - without a single bounce. Sierra slammed her weapon down into the relic, but no matter how hard she pushed, her blade would not penetrate it.

"There is no chaos. There is harmony!" Surro hollered into the cockpit. "Landai! Get us on the ground, now!"

But Master Landai too, could no longer hear. Could no longer act. She clutched at her head in simultaneous confusion and agony, screaming. She lost control of the shuttle; it veered wildly off course, losing thrusters, antigravitational lift, environmental stabilizers … they were careening back to the planet. They were going to crash.

"There is no death. There is the - no! _NO!_ I won't let -. He can't do this!"

Sierra didn't understand. Why was this happening?!

Surro shrieked in wretched anguish. But the next words she spoke were perfectly calm. "You know what you have to do, Sierra. Don't let him take us. Don't let him take control."

She wanted Sierra to kill her.

"Remember who we are! Remember the sixth line! There is no contemplation. There is only duty!"

Spurred by the Jedi Master's words, Sierra raised her blade up high.

But it was too late.

He came for her now. Vitiate. The Sith Emperor. His voice bellowed in her mind, shattering all focus, eradicating all concentration, silencing all dissension: _YOU ARE MINE._ She was his. She could no more resist him than an asteroid could escape the gravity of a sun. She was an insect, trapped in his hurricane, destined to be swept into his maw.

And through him, she caught a glimpse of what was to come.

Even as she brought her weapon up to grant Surro's last request, her arm was already moving sheathe the blade. Not by her will, but by his. By the Holocron's. Her will was no longer her own. She had been subsumed, just like all the rest of them.

They had lost their chance. They had lost everything.

All that remained were puppets. All that they knew was submission.

Moments later, their shuttle crashed back onto Ziost's surface.

* * *

"Toes … look!"

Hallie pointed up to the sky. Tosin looked up … and watched as the shuttle of Jedi - the shuttle that had taken off only minutes ago - crashed back down to the planet.

They ran forward to get a better look.

From the wreckage, a dozen Jedi masters crawled out … but there was something wrong with them. Something unnatural. Tendrils of crimson energy wafted off of them in waves, tainting light with dark. Swallowing hope with despair. Trading defiance for capitulation.

Something was controlling them all. Eris. Siphon. A dozen Jedi Masters. How was it possible?

Tosin sank to his knees. The power … it was incomprehensible! Infinite! Simultaneously carnal yet transcendent. Ravenous, yet indifferent. It pulled at him like a star, radiant in its beauty, but deadly in its wrath; leaving only ash in its wake.

The female Jedi Master - the leader from before - stood up. He saw her clearly now; her hood had been torn off in the crash. Brown dreadlocks pushed up and behind her head highlighted a myriad of scars that painted themselves across her face. There was no doubt … this was a Jedi Master who had seen years of battle, had survived countless engagements.

And still, she had succumbed.

The rest of the Jedi followed suit, but Tosin could tell they too did not do so by their own will. Invisible strings lifted their arms and legs in a facade of independence, but Tosin saw through them. Marionettes. That's what these Jedi had been reduced to.

The group split into two. The Jedi leader led a group north, towards New Adasta, feet dashing upon the snow with aberrant speed. The other group included Lethe's apprentice, who untied Darth Siphon's bindings and helped her up. All of them headed east -

But the Siphon who stood was no longer their master. Tosin could feel it, even at their distance. The way she moved was different. Cold, calculating stares had replaced the frantic madness that had been Tosin and Hallie's constant companion since their return to New Adasta. Whatever, whoever, now controlled the Jedi, also controlled Siphon.

"She - Siphon's getting away!"

Hallie's frantic cry jolted Tosin from his reverie. By instinct, his hands lanced out an arc of lightning at his former master. Just as the bolt was about to connect, Eris's form suddenly turned, stepping straight into the path of his attack. The lightning surged into her and she collapsed to the ground; no shriek, no cry … just stillness.

They chased after their quarry, barely able to keep pace with the fast-moving group of dominated Jedi. As he ran, Tosin summoned the Force once more to charge another charge of electricity … but nothing came. Once more, his power failed him. Once more the darkness abandoned him. Again and again he tried, each time only to be met with brazen defeat.

As they passed Eris' body, Tosin let his feet stumble and fall. Hallie broke her sprint, returning to lift him back up.

"Toes, we can't stop!" Hallie screamed, her voice filled to the brim with all the futile despair, pent-up rage, hopeless regret that had plagued them both since their former master drafted them back into her service. "She's getting away! We need her to save Andora!"

Tosin stared at his hands; he already knew it was useless. He could no more command lightning now than the Jedi who fled could break free of their bonds.

He had failed.

They watched as Siphon, along with the Jedi, disappeared into the horizon; Hallie sank to her knees in the snow.

The rustle of cloth drew their attention back to the fallen Eris. The woman stood up slowly, grunting as she did so. Tosin stepped forward to put Hallie behind himself, shielding her as best he could. In the back of his mind, he wondered if it would be any use. Eris had taken his lightsaber. The Force rejected him. What chance did they stand?

"I … I'm free," Eris breathed. "H-how …?"

Tosin put two and two together. The jolt of lightning - perhaps the last he would ever throw - had somehow severed the connection between puppeteer and puppet. His attempt to stop Siphon had inadvertently freed Eris from her domination.

"Stay back," warned Tosin.

"You don't understand," Eris cried as clarity renewed panicked desperation. "We have to save them! They're still under his control!"

"They're your masters," said Hallie, the words sparking realization and understanding in them both. "You're Jedi."

Eris nodded, offering neither denial nor explanation. "You saved me. You broke his compulsion! Please, you must help me - you can save them all!"

Tosin's nose curled in disgust. "Why would I want to -"

Hallie interrupted him. "No, wait. Toes, if she … maybe she can help us."

Eris' eyes darted between them both, frenetic in her hope to reach an understanding. "A bargain then. Help me save my masters, and I'll help you-"

"You'll help us capture Siphon," said Tosin.

"Alive," added Hallie.

The young Jedi nodded. "Agreed. Whatever it takes. Did you see the other group went? We were heading east, that much I remember, but -"

Eris' words stopped dead in their tracks as suddenly she began to claw at her head in excruciating agony. Tosin whirled around to see a figure standing alone in the distance.

Lethe.

Somehow she had found them. He raised his hand to attempt to throw Lethe back through the Force, but she was too quick. Too driven. She slammed her hand in a wide circle and forced Tosin and Hallie to the ground.

This was power magnified a thousand-fold by pure, unadulterated rage. Unquenchable vengeance. Undeniable sorrow.

"So it's true, Sierra. You are Jedi. You are a traitor."


	37. Interlopers - Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

* * *

 _Six Months Ago, Siphon's Citadel_

"Move! Faster, you worthless filth!"

Lethe stared out the balcony of her new quarters - once the personal chambers of the late Darth Orthas - as Lord Cyriak, one of Orthas' most prominent acolytes, roared at the line of slaves he had assembled. They now scurried to bring in furniture, clothing, paintings and decor from the shuttlebays into her new room. Lethe was not one to delegate such simple tasks, but Cyriak had insisted - doubtless to curry favor - and she had relented if only to appease him.

Besides, the view of New Adasta from this height was almost too breathtaking for her to tear herself away.

She couldn't help smiling behind her golden mask. In one fell swoop, one single momentous stroke, Lethe had seized everything she had ever wanted. A powerbase to rival any Sith's on Ziost. Influence to accelerate her rise. And the resources she needed to rebuild and reunite the Empire, one planet at a time.

For all that, the only price she paid was to wear a simple mask.

"What do you think you're you doing?!" Cyriak hissed. "I ordered you to move our master's belongings, not stare at them!"

Lethe glanced back towards Cyriak. The pureblood enjoyed being cruel to the staff, the slaves in particular. The girl he now yelled at couldn't have been more than eighteen or so, with strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes. She cowered as Cyriak barked at her, spittle flying in all directions.

"F-forgive me, my lord. It's been days since I've had a chance to sleep, if I could just -"

"You could just what? Abandon your duty? Spit on the privilege I give you to serve at our master's feet? Get moving!"

The girl scurried to return to her task.

Lethe frowned. She would have to find a way to stamp out this streak of unnecessary cruelty from Orthas' followers. Years ago and she had been but the child of a slave, subject to the whims of an equally cruel master. She had resolved then that if she ever ascended to power, she would not be like them. And she had renewed that promise with Retra. She had to make her old friend proud.

Perhaps then, Retra's memory would stop haunting her.

"Cyriak. I'll handle the rest. You're dismissed."

Cyriak glanced to her, eyes arching curiously. "My lord, are you certain? There is still much -"

"Yes. I will summon you should I need you."

"As you wish, my lord."

Lord Cyriak bowed and slowly exited her quarters. Lethe waited a few minutes in purposeful silence before addressing the rest of the assembled slaves. "You're all dismissed as well. Take the rest of the day for yourselves. Rest and recover."

A few of the slaves glanced to each other in bewilderment. Others did not need to be told twice; they fled as fast as their legs could take them and still maintain a walking pace. Soon, her chambers emptied. All except for one. The slavegirl with the strawberry-blonde hair. She approached, cautious and meek, stopping a short bit away, head bowed in grateful deference.

She looked so much like Retra. So much like her old friend.

"I just want to say, master Siphon. Thank you. Thank you so much."

Lethe smiled behind her mask, her heart warming in her chest, forgetting that her expression could not be seen.

"Things will be different now. You'll see."

* * *

 _Present Day, Outside New Adasta_

Lethe smiled behind her mask, fighting in a desperate attempt to hold back tears, forgetting that even should they fall,  
they would not be seen.

Once more, Sierra was on her knees, brought low by Lethe's power. Her voice trembled, unable to hide her emotion ... her fear. Her confusion. Her empathy.

It was pathetic.

"Peace is a lie," said Lethe, struggling, failing, to hold steady her voice. "Do you finally understand?"

Sierra looked up at her, voice pleading. "Please. Don't do this!"

"You reveal yourself the hypocrite that all Jedi are. I must admit I did not think I would be able to count a Jedi as a traitor. Three times, I've been betrayed. Hadrax and Cyriak. Astraad. And now, a Jedi."

"Astraad? What do you mean Astraad -"

"Do not lie to my face! Do not feign concern you do not possess!"

"You have to believe me. Master, it's not -"

The honorific sent a fresh wave of fury surging through Lethe's veins. "Shut your mouth! I'm no master of yours! You are an impostor! Spy! Liar!"

"And what are _you?!"_ screamed Sierra. "What have you been doing all this time if not exactly that same thing! Lying to your followers, pretending to be someone you're not. You lied to all of us, your whole powerbase! You are not Siphon!"

Lethe brushed Sierra's words aside. "I won't be judged by some Jedi scum. Republic flunkey!"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rend lift his hand in preparation to attack. The man had seared Siphon's mask upon Lethe's face, but so great was Lethe's anger at Sierra's betrayal, she didn't even care he was here. He was an afterthought. A distraction. A spark of lightning flew from his hand towards her, but it lacked any conviction. The electricity wrapped around her, a fuzzy tickling that she barely acknowledged, and then dissipated.

"This does not concern you!" Lethe slashed the air in Rend's direction; both he and Hallie crumpled to the snow-covered ground, unconscious.

She returned her attention to Sierra. Good. It was just them two now. No interruptions. No interference.

"Where is the Holocron?" Lethe asked.

Sierra stood to her feet, defiant. "It's been destroyed."

"Still you lie. I can feel it here, echoes of it, a hint of the power that was mine. Every word out of your mouth is laced with deception. I see through it now. I see the truth!"

"Ask them," Sierra countered, glancing to Tosin and Hallie's unmoving bodies. "The Holocron is gone! Its purpose has been fulfilled. It was all a trick, all from the start. The Holocron does not grant power. It takes it. It subsumes it for itself. It is the Sith Emperor's weapon, and with it, he has taken all he needs to devour the planet!"

 _Could it be? Could this be the truth?_

"Please! Lethe. Master! Help me. Help me stop the Emperor before it's too late, or we're all dead!"

No … it was another trick. Another deception. Sierra spewed falsehoods to save her own skin. Lethe would not be taken in. Not again.

"No more lies!"

Lethe charged forward, blade whistling as she lanced it forward like a spear. Sierra grabbed her own weapon, brought it up to deflect, but instead of countering, she merely dodged a few steps to the side. Lethe seized the momentum, swinging her blade in wide, cleaving blows as she pushed Sierra further and further back.

"All along you were my greatest betrayer! I made you Lord, I saved you from Rime! You made me a fool! A laughingstock of the Empire!"

Sierra panted as she weaved between Lethe's flurries. "I saved you! The Holocron would've consumed you, just like it did to my friends! Please, you have to let me help them!"

"So they can strike another blow against the Empire?! So they can come back and spit on my corpse just as you spit upon my face?!"

"Our only target was Vitiate! He is my only enemy! You may not have been my true master, but you're still a beacon for the Empire! Its hope for a better future!"

"Enough of your fawning!"

Lethe was tired. Drained from the Holocron's abandonment. Weakened by Astraad's treachery. She was weak. Her attacks had only a fraction of their original power, barely any of their speed. Sierra sidestepped them all. Still, the girl refused to counter. Perhaps she was tired too. Each of Lethe's swings left her wide open for seconds; it should've been easy for the girl to end it. It should have long been done.

"Attack!" screamed Lethe. "Attack, you deceiver! Interloper! False Sith!"

"No."

Lethe shrieked her fury, her rage, bellowing out the Force all around her. Ice cracked beneath her feet. In the distance, a small avalanche tumbled down a massive rock formation, shaking its foundations, collapsing it all to the ground. Sierra covered her ears, eyes wincing in pain, but still she did nothing.

Lethe dashed forward to slice at her false apprentice once more. Sierra dodged - but her feet hit a patch of ice and she slipped. A cry loosed from the girl's lips as she fell to the ground prone, vulnerable on her back. It was so like Retra's. It was almost as though the voice that called out to her was that of her oldest friend. Lethe raced to her side. She offered her hand for Retra to use as leverage. They needed to get back up, to -

 _What was she doing?_

One hand held her lightsaber high in the air, poised to strike, to slash down and end this traitor forever. The other held a hand forward, waiting for the girl before her to get back up, still wanting Sierra at her side.

Sierra looked at Lethe, stared into the vacant holes of her mask, penetrated the veil of her shrouded eyes and glimpsed her very soul.

" … whatever lies we told each other, whatever masks we donned for each other … one thing was not false. One thing was true. One thing was genuine."

Tears streamed down Lethe's cheeks, setting her wounded face alight. But the pain was nothing compared to the emotions that raged in her chest, fought each other for her heart. Hatred. Longing. Failure. Betrayal. Despair. Friendship. Nihilism. Hope.

A broken promise.

A chance to start over.

"I believed in your way. I believed in what you fought for," said Sierra.

Lethe screamed her pain. "Liar!"

"I still believe in it. I still believe in you."

Sobbing, Lethe swung her lightsaber down.

* * *

Sierra laid on her back, half-in shock, watching as Lethe's lightsaber swung downwards only to fly out of her hand, jettisoning to the snow; the blade retracting in an anodyne chorus. The masked woman sank to her knees, weeping. Sierra almost didn't recognize the sound, the facade's modulator distorted it so much. She rushed to Lethe's side and wrapped her arms around her.

 _There is no emotion. There is peace. But peace … is a lie._

They knelt there in the snow of Ziost's frozen wastes, together, for minutes. No words parted their lips. No movement stirred the calm. Only Lethe's quiet sobs broke the calm, and even they soon stopped.

Alone, but together. For just a few, short moments, nothing else mattered.

It was over.

 _Peace is a lie. But sometimes ... it's not._

Finally, Lethe stood up. She turned away from Sierra, hands reaching for her mask. They pried at the edges, pulled at them with what little leverage they could muster. With each tug Lethe cried out in pain; the jolts of agony seemed only to redouble her resolve.

"What are you doing?" asked Sierra.

Lethe didn't respond. Sierra felt the woman before her summon the Force, the last vestige of her strength, to latch onto her mask and pull.

Sierra got up and put a hand on Lethe's shoulder. "Stop. You'll hurt yourself."

"Help me," pleaded Lethe. "I need to know. If it's the last thing I do, I need to be free of it. Of her."

Sierra glanced towards the distance. She needed to hurry. There was no telling what he was making her true masters do at this very moment. Garault. Surro. All the rest … they were in danger.

But as she gazed upon Lethe's golden mask, she knew she could not abandon this false master yet.

She summoned the Force.

Together, they pulled.

Lethe's golden mask twisted and bent, screeching its displeasure as the Force realized their united will. The mask was no match for them. It was the last remnants of a lie that had been revealed. Empty. Hollow. Compelled by their power, the metallic facade split itself in half, tore itself from Lethe's face. The pieces shot to opposite sides of the frost-covered valley, burying themselves in snow and ice. Lethe screamed as Sierra rushed to her side to ensure she did not collapse.

And though what remained of Lethe's face was now a mess of blood, spots of calcified metal and raw flesh, Sierra had never seen anyone more elated.

* * *

 _Through passion, she had found peace._

The pain was nothing. Terrible as it was, it was nothing in the face of freedom. It was nothing, compared to her relief. She broke away from Sierra and stumbled a frozen patch of water - a mirror lit by moonlight. Once more, she saw her face. Her own face. Not any masquerade, not any facade or construct. Not a golden lie, but dark skin, covered in blood. Ripped to shreds in places that revealed muscle and sinew and tissue. Distorted by patches of metal, where her prison had seared into the bones of her skull.

Marred though it might be, it was still her face. Her own face. Her own identity. No more was she Darth Siphon. No more could she have her master's power, influence, strength. She didn't even know if she would survive the night.

She did not care. If she was to die, then she would die knowing she had reclaimed what she thought was forever lost. Once more, she was Lethe. Once more, she was free.

Lethe was done all of it. She had played the Empire's political game, had ascended to a throne atop a grand powerbase. And then she had lost it all. The powerbase. Her apprentices. Her allies. She had even almost lost herself. Her ideals. Her promise.

It was clear now. Sierra might've believed in her, her way, her ideals.

But she was wrong.

Lethe's way had no place here. There was no path for anyone like her, who held to her beliefs. Not as an Imperial. Not as it stood now. The prejudices, the hatred. The jealousy. The rage. They were ingrained into the very marrow of the Sith Empire's bones. There was no chance for unity. No hope for allegiance. No room for honor.

Lethe might have presided over a false powerbase of traitors, usurpers, exiles and interlopers … but hers was not so different from all the rest. She knew it to be true, saw it reflected through history. Thanaton had Nox. Baras had the Wrath. Orthas had Astraad. Siphon had Lethe.

And with structures such as these as its foundation, the Sith Empire itself could be but a false empire. Doomed to fall. Doomed to a collapse heralded by its masters and its servants. Doomed to be defeated, not by any external foe or threat … but by itself.

She glanced to the unconscious forms of Rend and Hallie. They too were cogs in a machine, pawns swept up in a game that was beyond them. Lethe's heart should have filled with hatred and vengeance for them; they had conspired to destroy her. He had been the cause of so much physical pain in the last few months. Any other Sith would have destroyed them, would have annihilated them for their trespass.

But that was not Lethe's way. She was not that Sith. She never was, no matter how hard the Holocron had tried to shape her in that image.

Slowly, Lethe lifted her feet.

"Where will you go? What will you do?"

Sierra's tone carried the question as if she already knew what Lethe was planning. But Lethe herself didn't know where she was going, and she didn't care much to think about it. All she knew was that there was no more reason for her to be here. Not in New Adasta. Perhaps not even on Ziost. Better to leave it all behind, let it fade to a fleeting wisp of a memory. A half-remembered dream, just out of grasp, just beyond recognition.

It was time to start fresh.

She glanced back to her false apprentice. Her mouth opened, trying to find the right words to say, to piece together sentences that might somehow be able to convey to Sierra everything she now experienced. The echoes of betrayal that still lingered around her heart. The sorrow borne from knowledge that it was their destiny to be enemies once more, even if they could still delay that outcome. The gratitude she felt for this Jedi, who had saved her from the Holocron. Who had saved her from herself.

It was futile. She closed her mouth, realizing that it had been opening and shutting in repeated and failed attempts to bring speech to emotion. How ridiculous she must've looked.

But it was Lethe that was seen. Lethe that appeared ridiculous. Lethe whose face would be recognized.

Not the mask. Not Siphon.

There was nothing that could be said. She could only trust that Sierra already knew … and somehow Lethe suspected that it was so.

She offered a weak smile - not because it was false, but because it was all the strength she had to do. And then she turned to leave.

"Wait," said Sierra. "Before you go … what did you mean when you said Astraad betrayed you?"

Lethe paused in her tracks. So much still didn't make sense … but it didn't matter. Not to her. Sierra could sort it out, or not. But Lethe would leave it all behind.

" … he tried to kill me. He planned everything from the start. He's behind it all."

Sierra asked, "Is he -"

"He's dead."

With that, she turned and left.

 _Through peace, she had found freedom._

* * *

 **END PART THREE**


	38. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

* * *

Sierra looked on as Lethe departed. She allowed herself a moment of quiet relief … of grateful victory. Lethe was saved. That much, at least, she had accomplished.

As her former master's figure vanished into the horizon, Sierra returned to her now urgent task. She might've saved one master from the Holocron, but now she had a dozen that needed to be freed from the Holocron's own master. The Sith Emperor. Reborn on Yavin IV. Empowered by the Holocron on Ziost. Was this his plot? Was this what he was after?

Sierra had not forgotten Lethe's words from just a few moments ago either. Astraad had betrayed Lethe. He had tried to kill her.

Everything Astraad told Sierra about believing in Lethe's way … it was a lie. But why? Why help Sierra try to save Lethe only to turn around and try to assassinate her while Sierra chased the Holocron?

Unless … this was his intention all along. To get her to lure her true masters to the planet, so that they might be corrupted by the Holocron. To deliver to Vitiate bodies he could control and leverage for his own dark purposes.

 _Astraad planned everything from the start._

Astraad had somehow learned Sierra's true identity, had somehow discovered her masters were nearby. No ... the answer was obvious. Beral. She was the one who had managed to peer into Sierra's mind; had she managed to see that far? She had claimed to know who Sierra truly was. Had she told Astraad after all? Had he believed her? Were they working together? Or had Astraad finally succeeded in his interrogation?

When the real Siphon stole the Holocron, he must have seen the perfect opportunity; knowing the truth, he contacted Sierra's masters, gave them tracking coordinates to ensure they would arrive to intercept Siphon. And then he attacked Lethe while she lay vulnerable.

If Astraad truly was behind all of this, he had succeeded in terrifying fashion.

There were still so many unanswered questions. But they would have to wait. Rescuing her masters was the top priority now. And to do that she would need help.

From within her robes, Sierra pulled out the quiet husk of the Holocron of Ancient Sorcery. It was silent now, unremarkable, but perhaps she would be able to find a use for it later.

She glanced all around to ensure no one saw her tuck the relic away. Then, she moved to help up the already-stirring Rend and Hallie.

Together, they would find a way to break the Emperor's control. The task seemed nigh impossible. Sierra forced herself not to worry about the details yet. They would figure out the specifics later, when they had a chance to regroup and recover from the ordeal they had all just suffered. But for now, she needed only to focus on the overall objective. Saving her masters. Stopping the Emperor.

That was all that mattered now.

 _After all … there is no contemplation. There is only duty._

* * *

 _Some Time Later, Lord Beral's Estate, Kaas City_

"Come to congratulate me? You shouldn't have."

Beral sat across from the holocommunicator in her own estate, drooping over her chair in lazy nonchalance. Once more, the shimmering cerulean form of her pureblood friend with the cybernetic eye appeared before her, hands folded neatly behind his back. His eyes betrayed little emotion other than a faint glimmer of furious contempt.

She smiled to herself. Doubtless, he now saw the folly of not backing her play.

"I believe you've already been reminded that no accolades would be given for interference in a task not your own."

Stubborn to the end. Beral was used to it; she adopted an air of false affront. "Surely you and our brethren cannot be so shortsighted as to not see this for the victory it was. Our glorious master demanded powerful force-users for the final phase. I provided them to him."

"And yet the offerings you made seem lackluster in comparison to those that were intended. Our master's task would be much simpler were the Dark Council under his sway, and not these treacherous Sixth Line Jedi."

A skeptical snort escaped her nose. "Our brother was still holding out hope he could somehow weave the Dark Council back into the loop; that was his mistake. Our Master's plans were and are already underway on Ziost. He needed suitable hosts. I delivered them."

The cerulean figure frowned, stroking the tendrils upon his face for a long moment as he considered her words. "And what of our brother? What became of him?"

"In critical condition," said Beral, without a flicker of regret. "I sent for our allies to recover him, but I suspect it's unlikely he'll recover. More likely, he will need to be replaced."

"A pity," said the man, but he seemed equally apathetic to the news. "But before we get to that, additional clarification is still required. Why put on the show? Why masquerade as servants to mediocre Sith? Why not deliver the Holocron to the Council personally?"

"I would've thought that was obvious," said Beral, smiling.

"Indulge me."

She chuckled lightly. Even the man's requests sounded like orders. "It was our brother's estimation - and for once, I agreed completely with him - that it would be too risky to deliver the Holocron ourselves. You know full well the Dark Council has been wary of our presence ever since we chased Vowrawn off Rishi and our Master declared his rebirth on Yavin IV."

The pureblood before her folded his arms across his chest. "Yes, and Marr, his allies, and Sith Intelligence have been hunting all corners of the galaxy for signs of our master ever since. What does that have to do with your plot?"

"Everything. If the Dark Council discovered our true identities, they might have decided to neutralize the Holocron rather than to empower it. No, it had to come from a powerbase they would not suspect."

"And yet, all that planning was for naught. The Dark Council remains free, and you've offered woefully poor substitutes in their place."

"I defy you to have done better," said Beral. "It was clear months ago that our brother's plot to dominate the Dark Council had failed. I did what had to be done to conclude that farce and bring our master's plans to fruition."

She was growing annoyed with the man's patronizing and judgmental tone. After all, it was she had done what none of them had been bold enough to do. She who had risked everything, who had sacrificed so much! She had completed a monumental task! And now, as she tried to bask in her success, they dared to try and minimize her achievement?

The shimmering figure smiled. It would have seemed kind had Beral not known its wearer for as long as she did.

"My point was that rather than allow the one to whom this task belonged his singular miscarriage, you have succeeded in the remarkably self-defeating endeavor of adding your failure to his."

She opened his mouth to retort … but the meaning of his accusation left her tongue dumbstruck.

"What are you talking about?" asked Beral.

"You just had to insert yourself into this fool conspiracy. You always were singularly focused on your glory-seeking."

Beral sat up straight, resting her hands into her lap as she struggled to maintain her composure. "I would argue that I salvaged a task that our brother only would have -."

Laughter drowned out her words. "Oh, you'd argue that, would you? Perhaps you've not been paying attention to events on Ziost of late. Darth Nox has arrived on the planet, some say accompanied by our prodigal sibling, the defiant Wrath, to join Marr's investigation."

"We expected that outcome," Beral protested. "Those two made their allegiance clear in the conflict against Revan."

"You're right. But what was not anticipated, was that the _Jedi Barsenthor and the Hero of Tython would be joining them."_

A shiver ran down Beral's spine. "What are you talking about? Why would those two go to Ziost-"

And then realization struck.

"Do you see now, fool?!" spat the pureblood. "Do you see the depths of your miscalculation? I thought you couldn't do more damage to our master's plans, but clearly I was mistaken. Your meddling has drawn the attention of some of the strongest members within the Jedi Order. They've come for their Sixth Line friends. Their involvement now threatens to throw all our carefully-laid preparations into disarray!"

Panic filled Beral's veins for the first time in ages. "Y-you … you don't know that! Our Master is strong again, strong enough to devour them, all of them! Just as he will the planet!"

"You've risked everything in drawing their attention! They are aberrations! Deviations in a ritual centuries in the making! _And you invited them."_

He was right. The Barsenthor and the Hero of Tython were powerful outliers that they had not accounted for. If they were on Ziost, if they posed a threat ...

"So this is why you called. To chastise me, to reprimand -"

"I am here to order you back to Ziost. You will tend to these outliers before things spin out of our hands. You will rectify this, Servant Eight. _Immediately."_

She bowed her head, shame and disgrace washing over her in equal measure. She could not allow her error to threaten everything they had achieved. Loathe as she might be to return to Ziost, she had but one answer.

"Yes, Servant Three. It will be done."

* * *

 **THE END**

But the story will continue in:

 **The False Emperor**


End file.
